


let your heart be light

by dothraki_shieldmaiden



Series: out there on the high dive [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: But mostly fluff, Castiel isn't convinced, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Dean Loves Christmas, Domestic Fluff, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Grumpy Castiel (Supernatural), John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Married Life, Multi, Teensy Bit of Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:15:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 33,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21635617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dothraki_shieldmaiden/pseuds/dothraki_shieldmaiden
Summary: It's Dean and Cas' first official Christmas together as a couple. What could possibly go wrong?Just Cas' weird family, his own personal hang-ups about Christmas, Dean's persistent belief that the miracle of Christmas can heal all wounds, and meddling friends and family.Have a Merry Christmas.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury/Jo Harvelle, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester
Series: out there on the high dive [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1458445
Comments: 84
Kudos: 152





	1. snowglobe

**Author's Note:**

> Just my humble attempt to fill Christmas prompts. With any luck, there will eventually be 25 related, Christmas drabbles here by the time that I am done. Whether they are done by December 25th...Hang on for this ride!

“Hey, be careful with that,” Dean says as Castiel starts to unpack the first of many Christmas boxes. 

“You’re not even looking at me,” Castiel mutters, glancing over his shoulder to where Dean is unraveling the garlands from their paper tubes. 

“Yeah, but I can tell from the way that you opened the box that you’re not being careful.” 

He’s not entirely wrong, but Castiel doesn’t want to admit it. Still, he takes his time opening the rest of the box and when he sifts through the newspaper and styrofoam peanuts in the box. 

It’s their first Christmas living together, and they’ve already had some bumps. Namely, Dean wanted to decorate on November 15th, while Castiel would be fine decorating never. They compromised and decided on December 1st, which resulted in Dean waking up early, for once in his life, and shaking a very unresponsive Castiel awake. 

All right, so he’s a little grumpy, which _might_ have resulted in him opening the box with a little force than was strictly necessary. But he’s more careful now as he takes out the dozen Christmas knickknacks that Dean’s managed to collect through his life. 

Castiel knows that there’s a story behind each of these, and no doubt if he were to ask, then Dean would tell him. The problem is that there are just so many of them and the whole idea of Christmas leaves Castiel with a vague sour taste in his mouth. He forces it down, reminds himself that this is the first Christmas that he and Dean are spending together and that isn’t an awkward shambles of either _I really like you but we don’t have that kind of relationship_ or _Your entire family knows that I broke your heart and now they kind of hate me even when you tell them that it’s fine and we’re happy_. It’s a lot, and a lack of enthusiasm over traditional Christmas just makes it _more_. 

He pulls out the last decoration from the box, a small snowglobe that looks like it’s seen better days. The bottom forest scene carvings are chipped, little evergreens showing white and several animals missing either their legs or sides. One forlorn reindeer is missing half his antlers. The glass on the globe itself is scratched and muted. In a few places it’s downright murky, with a few black patches on it. When he shakes it, the snow inside swirls belligerently, before quickly settling down on the ground once again. Even the scene inside the globe, with its ice-skating couples, seems somehow saddened in nature, like the tiny painted figures are just waiting for the ice to crack underneath them. 

“Ah, there she is,” Dean breathes. He’s managed to sneak up behind him, which is unfair, but Castiel relaxes as Dean winds his arms around his waist. He leans back into Dean’s comforting bulk, breathing in deep the scent of his cologne and detergent. 

“You were looking for this?” Castiel gives the snowglobe another, tentative shake. 

“Best decoration of them all,” Dean assures him, before blowing a short raspberry against the back of his neck. Castiel squirms in his grip, but Dean is strong and makes no qualms about tightening his grip and squashing Castiel’s internal organs in the process. One day Castiel is going to go to the doctor and they’re going to find that he has irreparable damage to his spleen, and then it’s going to be _all Dean’s fault_. 

“No offense, but it, um...doesn’t look like much,” Castiel says dubiously. In the silence that follows his statement he has just enough time to regret his words before the warmth of Dean’s arms are yanked away from his waist and the snowglobe is snatched out of his hands. Castiel turns around just in time to watch Dean situate himself on the end of the couch, snowglobe cradled carefully in his large hands. 

Shit.

Castiel knows that a large flaw in his personality comes from speaking first and thinking later, or, as Dean so succinctly puts it, _Forgetting to be a real fucking person for thirty seconds_. It’s caused quite a few problems in his past and will continue to cause quite a few problems in his future, because, as he reminds Dean when he gets frustrated with his partner and himself, _I can’t just turn it off Dean, I’m sorry_. 

And he is sorry, because obviously, this snowglobe means something to Dean, even if Castiel thinks that it might be one of the ugliest things in creation. And, now that he looks back it see the progression of events, he realizes that Dean was the odd combination of manic and tender that he gets when he’s feeling vulnerable. 

Conclusion: Castiel is an asshole. 

He sidles next to Dean on the couch, resting a tentative hand between Dean’s shoulders. When Dean doesn’t shake him off, Castiel moves closer. He doesn’t stop until he’s draped over Dean’s back like a particularly ineffective blanket. Dean seems to appreciate the contact though. He slumps under Castiel’s weight and cranes his head to the side so that Castiel can nose at the soft skin behind his ear. 

“Tell me about it,” Castiel says, enough upwards inflection at the end of his voice to turn the statement into a question. 

Dean sucks in a shaky breath, and lets out a shuddering exhale. One of his hands reaches up and gropes at Castiel’s wrist until Castiel turns his hand and allows Dean to lace their fingers together. Dean grips his hand, the wrong side of too tight, but Castiel doesn’t complain as Dean drags their knuckles over his mouth. 

“It was my mom’s,” Dean says, and something in Castiel’s chest breaks open at the wavering sound of Dean’s voice. 

Dean doesn’t talk about his parents; at least not willingly. There have been a few times when Dean’s had more than a few and he’s blabbered out something to Castiel, but he hasn’t voluntarily given information about his parents without imbibing some kind of alcohol. 

Castiel brushes another kiss over Dean’s neck, right at his hairline and hums encouragement. 

“She loved Christmas. I mean, I don’t remember many Christmases, but that’s what Bobby told me. He said that she loved it all--the lights, the trees, the decorations.” Dean turns the globe over in his hands. “I remember this thing though. For whatever fucking reason, I was obsessed with this thing. Wouldn’t let it go, no matter what. When Christmas was over and she tried to pack it away with the rest of the decorations, I cried until she let me keep it in my room. I would watch it every night, even in the middle of summer. The snow, the skaters...I don’t know. it was peaceful.”

Dean sniffles. Castiel pretends not to have heard. “And then, after the fire...Dad was too busy shoving things into bags to pay attention to me the entire time. I managed to get up the stairs and into my room...A few toys, stuffed animals...but all I wanted was this thing.” Dean turns the globe over in his hands. “Kept this in my bag all that time. Made sure never to let Dad see it--The one time that he caught me with it, he yelled so much that he woke Sammy up. Tried to yank it out of my hands but I was ready for him. Ran outside without my coat and stayed there for an hour until he drove away. Had to sit in the shower for a good thirty minutes to warm up afterward.

“And, like, you can’t trust kids with stuff like this, you know?” Dean runs his finger over the broken reindeer. “I was just a punk kid, didn’t know how to take care of nice things. Just threw this into my bag with my shampoo and my toothpaste. Cried whenever a piece broke off, but I didn’t dare let Dad see.”

Castiel ducks his head into Dean’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of him. He hurts so much for Dean’s younger self that he can feel the tear in his chest, an actual physical pain. “Eventually we landed at Bobby’s and I could unpack this. And then, when I got this place...” Dean shrugs. The motion threatens to topple Castiel but he clings on tighter to Dean’s back. “I felt like I didn’t need it anymore? Or maybe that I shouldn’t need it anymore. Either way, I packed it away with the rest of the Christmas stuff and, you know, I see it once a year, so that’s--”

Castiel never gives Dean a chance to finish. He slithers from clinging to Dean’s back to his lap. He takes the globe from Dean’s hands, carefully, now that he knows what it means, and sets it gently on the coffee table. Once that’s taken care of, he cradles Dean’s face within his hands. His thumbs sweep over the apple of Dean’s cheeks and underneath his eyes, which are suspiciously damp. He tilts Dean’s face up to his and kisses him, long, slow, and soft. Dean sighs into his kiss, relaxing bit by bit, until, when Castiel finally pulls away, he’s soft as putty in his hands. 

“You’re wonderful,” Castiel tells Dean, kissing his forehead, his temples, and the tip of his nose. Dean’s eyes close and he hums softly, off-tune. “You’re wonderful and I’m sorry that I’m so grouchy and awful, but I love you. And I promise that I’ll try harder and I’ll be...jolly, or whatever else you want me to be.”

Eyes still closed, Dean smiles. “You don’t have to,” he murmurs, nuzzling his face into Cas’ hand. “Be you. That’s always enough for me.” He presses a kiss to Castiel’s palm, then opens one eye. A glint lurks in his eye, one that Castiel immediately mistrusts. “Of course, if you’re still feeling bad and want to make it up to me, you can go shopping with me tomorrow.” 

Castiel rolls his eyes. He’s already got a bad feeling about this.


	2. blizzard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas shopping and a sweet treat.

“No,” Castiel says flatly when he sees where Dean’s eyes are wandering. “Absolutely not.” 

He’s already been stuffed into a mall teeming with rowdy children, snippy mothers, and overenthusiastic shoppers. He’s been subjected to at least three Mariah Carey Christmas songs, not to mention being accosted by several aggressive bell-wielding members of various charities. His feet hurt from being stepped on and from trekking through the mall at least three times. He is tired and losing the battle against grouchiness, and not even Dean’s presence can fight back the impending tide of irritation. 

Dean giving his best puppy-dog eyes at the mall’s Dairy Queen also isn’t improving his mood. “Dean, it’s freezing outside. You complained about it while we were walking in. You were wearing _gloves_,” Castiel points out, when it seems like none of his points are hitting home. 

“But we’re inside now. And they have a _Pumpkin Pie_ Blizzard, _look_.” 

Between Dean’s quivering lower lip and his wide, earnest eyes, Castiel can feel his resolve crumbling. Which is ridiculous. It’s _cold_ outside, to the tune of hats and gloves, and shivers so violent that they make your teeth chatter. Castiel’s had to spend a small fortune on heating this month alone. It’s the kind of cold that makes people worry about black ice and his partner, his beloved, wants ice-cream. 

What has his life even become. 

He wonders this as he gets into line with Dean, and then a few minutes later when he accepts his Candy Cane Blizzard. Dean, meanwhile, takes his Pumpkin Pie Blizzard and finds a seat. 

If he didn’t love Dean quite so much, then Castiel might be a little horrified at how quickly he can shovel soft serve into his face. As it is, he’s foolishly, ridiculously in love with the man in front of him, so all he feels is a little curl of fondness at the dribble of ice-cream winding its way down Dean’s chin. 

“Come here you savage,” he says, crooking a finger at Dean. 

Dean grins before he leans over the table. Castiel hooks a hand around the back of Dean’s neck and pulls him close enough so that he can put his lips on Dean’s chin. His tongue darts out. He licks up the ice-cream and sweetness, along with the faint salt-tang of Dean’s skin explodes on his tongue. Physical intimacy in public is disgusting, and rude, and other negative adjectives, but Castiel, for the moment, doesn’t care. 

When he releases Dean, the other man plops back into his seat. A goofy grin spreads across his face as he looks down into his ice-cream (the ice-cream which isn’t melting because it’s _cold_). “Stop it,” Castiel chides, ducking his head to hide his own grin. 

“Whatever. You’re nasty, you know that?” Dean rubs a thumb over his chin. “You licked my chin. Gross.” 

“Shut up and eat your ice-cream,” Castiel mutters, shoving a spoonful into his mouth. 

“You shut up and eat your ice-cream,” Dean answers back. He scoops up an extra large helping of his Blizzard and offers it to Castiel. “Eat it,” he cajoles, waving the spoon back and forth. “Eat it,” he sings, the words coming out a little garbled due to the smile stretching his face. 

“If I eat it will you leave me alone?” 

Dean considers for a moment. “Probably not, but it’s worth a shot.” 

Castiel rolls his eyes before he obediently opens his mouth. Dean shovels the spoon into Castiel’s mouth. The ice-cream sits in Castiel’s mouth for all of three seconds before a searing pain slices through his temples. He clutches his head, hissing in pain. 

“Brain freeze?” Dean asks, his voice thick with mock sympathy. “You poor baby.” 

“Fuck you,” Castiel mumbles, rubbing at his temples. 

He’s mad at Dean. He is 100% mad at Dean. He is mad at Dean and public displays of intimacy are disgusting and rude to others, and he has already done one today. 

It still doesn’t explain why he lets Dean sit next to him and press a series of soft kisses to his hairline. When he raises his concern, Dean pecks another kiss to his cheek. “Probably because you love me,” Dean answers, before he kisses him, soft and sweet, lips tasting of sugar and nutmeg. 

And damn it, he’s not wrong.


	3. advent calendar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This sets up the vague plot that exists in this story. Enjoy.

\---

It’s been a long day. It was a long day at 9am when his students came into class, it was a long day at 11am when students started to trickle into his office hours, complaining of misunderstandings and mishaps and begging for extensions for final papers. By 3pm, it was an excruciatingly long day, and now, at 6pm, it’s an unbearably long day. All Castiel wants is to lie down on his couch, put his feet up, and pass out for the next 12 hours. 

That’s his plan as his key turns in the lock. That’s his plan when he opens the door.

His plan changes when he takes two steps into his living room. 

Problem #1--There is a light on. He, being the environmentally responsible citizen that he is, turned all lights off this morning before he left. 

Problem #2--His entire living room reeks of whiskey. Not the cheap stuff either. This is the good, thirty year stuff that he shares with Dean on special occasions, or when he really, _really_ wants to get lucky. 

Problem #3--His stereo system is currently playing godawful Christmas pop at a decibel level that’s not quite deafening but certainly isn’t _quiet_ either. 

Problem #4--The biggest problem of all, and most likely the cause of all the other, lesser problems, sits on his couch. 

Well, sits is a generous verb. The problem is more slumped on his couch. Maybe poured into his couch. 

“Gabriel?” Cas asks, blinking hard just in case this is a nightmare. When he opens his eyes again, Gabriel is still there. Still on his couch. Still listening to Christmas music. Still drinking his expensive whiskey. Still in his house. 

“_Castiel_,” Gabriel slurs. His hazy eyes focus on Castiel with a form of manic glee. “You’re home.”

“Yes,” Castiel says, gingerly setting his bag down. “Yes I am. The question remains, however, as to why you’re in my house.” He pauses to consider what he should have considered before. “Did you break in?” 

Gabriel pushes himself up into something resembling a seated position. “You keep your spare key in a fake rock outside your house. I’m surprised that you’re not robbed every weekend.” 

Now for the million dollar question--”Why are you here?” 

Gabriel slumps back into the couch. “Man can’t visit his favorite cousin?”

“Not generally speaking, no.” Castiel leans against the wall and folds his arms. “Considering that we speak about twice a year.” 

Gabriel goes even more boneless. If he tried a little bit harder, he could possibly become one with the couch. “Kali broke up with me.” He says the latter with depressing finality. 

“I thought she did that two years ago.” 

“That wasn’t for real.”

“Then how do you know that this one is? Maybe if you give her some time then she’ll do the same this time.” 

“No, this time she’s serious.” Gabriel buries his face into the arm of the couch. “She packed up all my stuff. She threw away all of my food. She gave me back my pendant.” He produces a small, shining red pendant and holds it in front of Castiel like a talisman. 

“Is that the one that has your blood in it?” Castiel’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “Your girlfriend is weird.” 

“Ex-girlfriend,” Gabriel moans, tucking the pendant close to his chest. “I’m homeless, helpless. I have no one else to turn to.” 

“You have three vacation houses. Didn’t you used to own a yacht?”

“It’s all _meaningless_. None of it’s worth anything without her. Life is _pointless_ if you don’t have someone to share it with.” Gabriel lurches up, hands flailing towards Castiel. He manages to latch onto Castiel’s wrist and tugs him close enough that his boozy breath hits Castiel like an alcoholic slap to the face. Gabriel asks his question with world-ending intensity; his eyes locked onto Castiel’s.“You’re still with Dean, right?”

Castiel nods and Gabriel sags in relief. “Don’t ever let him go,” Gabriel says, slumping forward into a weird embrace. 

Castiel thinks about Dean’s delight at their shopping yesterday and the meatballs that he made when they got back home. He thinks about how, after they’d finished washing the dishes, he and Dean curled up together on the couch, tucked under one of Dean’s blankets, Dean’s fingers rubbing at the tense spots on the back of his neck. He remembers the soft kiss Dean pressed to his temple and the soft whisper of _I love you_ murmured into his hair. 

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Castiel answers. 

A gentle push sends Gabriel sprawling back on his couch. Gabriel moans and throws his arm up over his eyes. “So can I call you a cab? Maybe your driver? Get them to take you back to one of your _multiple_ residences?”

Gabriel yanks his arm away from his face. His expression is a mixture of offended and horrified. “Castiel, how can you say such a thing? Christmas is for family. I’m spending the holidays with you.”

Castiel searches Gabriel’s face for any hint of a joke. He finds none. Gabriel is dead serious and Castiel knows, from harsh experience, that once Gabriel’s mind is set on something, it’s easier to change the position of the stars. 

“You and me all through the holidays!” Gabriel fishes under his butt and comes out with a rumpled looking wreath and four candles, one of which is broken. “I brought you an advent wreath.”

Castiel takes the fake plastic evergreen and tries to bend it back into shape. “I’m not even Catholic,” he murmurs. He looks up just in time to see Gabriel fall asleep.

Castiel waits a moment before he hooks the wreath around his elbow and fishes his phone out from his back pocket. He glances at Gabriel, who is attractively drooling onto his upholstery. 

_**We have a problem**_, he sends to Dean.


	4. eggnog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Gabriel.

\---

Dean and Castiel don't live together. It's still early in their relationship, which is what Castiel says, and Dean signed a two-year lease on his townhouse a year ago, which is what Dean says. _Those reasons are both crap_ is what Gabriel says, which begins a long series of whining complaints from Gabriel. "What do you _mean_ he doesn't live with you?" The look on his face looks more akin to if Castiel had just drop-kicked a puppy. "The hell have you two been doing?"

Castiel rolls his eyes. "Living our lives? Working at our jobs? Having fantastic, mind-blowing--"

"La, la, la, can't hear you," Gabriel trills, hands over his ears. 

Castiel's eyes might fall out of his skull with how frequently and how violently he's rolling them. "Please don't pretend to be prudish now. Not thirty minutes ago, you were asking if Dean had 'trimmed my tree'." Castiel makes sure to punctuate the words with finger-quotes. "Which, why you would use that as a euphemism, I don't even know." 

That conversation leads into Gabriel throwing out as many Christmas related double entendres as he can--_Is Dean making your herald angels sing? Is he making you O Come O Come Emmanuel? Are you rockin' around his Christmas tree?_ That leads to Castiel storming into his room, muffling a scream of frustration in his pillow, and texting Dean. 

_ **You have to come over tomorrow night. Otherwise we'll be talking to each other through a glass wall and a phone connection for the next 10-25 years.** _

_ **shit babe can we just leave for the bahamas instead** _

_ **I can put a mortgage on my house if you're serious.** _

_ **no it's too sunny there and i peel like a lobster. make sure you have stuff for fettuccini alfredo tomorrow** _

\---

So Dean comes over the next night. Castiel meets him outside, slipping out the door before Gabriel scents his departure. He slams into Dean with the force of a five car collision, wrapping his arms around Dean's waist and burying his face into Dean's shoulder. To his credit, Dean absorbs the hit, and returns the embrace, albeit with a little less force. 

"That bad huh?" Dean's voice is a low, comforting rumble against Castiel's chest, and if he could, Castiel would wrap himself up in that voice every night. 

"He won't stop making Christmas puns," Castiel murmurs. He nuzzles into Dean's shirt and breathes in the scent of him. "When he's not doing that, he's singing Mariah Carey Christmas songs. He sings _Michael Buble_."

"Jesus babe." Dean's fingers slide up the back of Castiel's neck to card through his hair. "Pack a bag. You can stay with me for the rest of December. Gabriel can't find you there; he doesn't know where I live." 

"You sure about that Dean-o?" 

Castiel's grown to hate that voice. He pulls away from Dean, just enough to glare at Gabriel through one, slitted eye. 

Gabriel dangles off the front porch, Santa hat askew on his head and an overflowing cup of eggnog slopping over his fingers. The heavy scents of rum and cinnamon accompany him as he pours himself down the steps to stand next to them. 

Castiel tries not to mourn as Dean pulls away, leaving nothing but a single arm around his waist. Faced with the typhoon of Gabriel, Dean valiantly tries to rally. "Hey Gabriel." He bares his teeth in a proximity of a grin. "You haven't been keeping close enough tabs on us to know where I live." 

"Oh, you'd be surprised," Gabriel says. An edge slides through his smile. "I've got a lot of money and a lot of free time." 

The moment has all the potential to turn nasty, which is why it's a relief when Gabriel belches. He holds out his cup to Dean, a sloppy grin on his face. "Eggnog?" he offers. 

Dean raises a brow. "Not from that cup," he says, his eyes flicking back and forth from the cup to Gabriel's face. 

"Right," Gabriel drawls, turning a two syllable word into one that has seventeen. "I forgot, Cassie's the only one that you're swapping spit with these days." 

A low growl starts in Castiel's chest and settles in his throat. "Gabriel, Dean's here to make dinner for us. Can you please not antagonize or disgust him while he is doing that?" 

"Come on in," Gabriel says, a king welcoming a vassal to his castle. Except it's Castiel's house. He should be the king. "Can I get you some eggnog?" 

Castiel watches as his cousin leads his boyfriend into his house. Gabriel even pauses at the door to allow Dean into the house first, flashing up a thumbs-up behind Dean's back. Castiel rolls his eyes and follows them into the house. 

"So Dean, now that you're ringing Cassie's bells, I feel like you're part of the family," Gabriel says, with an uncompromising arm around Dean's shoulders. "Come, share in the Milton family tradition of eggnog." Castiel is aware of no such tradition. "Do you like your eggs nogged Dean? Can I nog your eggs? Does Cassie give you a good nogging for your eggs?"


	5. christmas party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A late night conversation.

\---

After the Eggnog Fiasco, Dean stays the night. 

His excuse is that he's too wobbly to drive home, but Castiel thinks that maybe Dean can sense his clinginess, pick up on the fact that he doesn't want to let go just yet. Either way, Castiel doesn't try too hard to convince Dean to go back to his own place after he makes his announcement. 

"You do whatever you want," Gabriel slurs from his place on the couch. He lifts a half-empty cup of eggnog in a sloppy toast. "I probably won't notice." 

Castiel glares at his cousin. "I assure you, we won't--"

"Might have to cover your ears," Dean leers. That, Castiel expects. Gabriel and Dean have been passively sniping at each other the entire night; continuing this would be only natural. The hands grabbing at his ass are a surprise. 

"Dean," Castiel hisses, twisting his fingers into Dean's hair. "Stop that." 

"Hope you've got some earplugs," Dean says, his voice heavy with insinuation. "We're going to be very busy." 

"_Stop_," Castiel says, twisting out of Dean's grasp. He glances to Gabriel. "We'll be doing nothing of the sort. We both have work tomorrow and it would be rude to..." Castiel shrugs, hoping that Gabriel gets the picture. "Not to mention awkward." 

"Hey, you do what you want," Gabriel says. The high of the night seems to be wearing off quickly. All that's left in his voice is a glum resignation. "It won't bother me." 

"We won't be having sex," Castiel says, firm enough to squash the hopeful look on Dean's face. "If you need anything else, just...Actually, please don't call. I'm sure that you'll be fine." 

"Sure." Gabriel waves a haphazard hand at them as they disappear down the hallway to Castiel's room. 

"I almost feel sorry for him," Dean says as he strips down to a t-shirt and boxers. "I mean, he was looking a little bummed out back there." 

Castiel shrugs. "His girlfriend broke up with him, which would be interesting if this weren't the sixteenth time that they've broken up. She always gets tired of him and he always manages to win her back. It's just me that has to deal with the fallout." 

"Doesn't he have friends?" Dean asks, stifling a yawn as he stretches out over the mattress. 

"Gabriel doesn't have friends. Gabriel has accomplices and Gabriel has victims." Castiel doesn't mean for his voice to sound quite that foreboding as he slides into bed, but he can't help it. The memories of summers spent with a Gabriel in high spirits and flaunting the authority of Michael still haunt him. 

"And which are you?" Dean reaches over and flips the bedside lamp off. 

Castiel rolls into the curve of Dean's body. "I'm a character witness." Whether it's for the defense or the prosecution, he leaves to Dean's imagination. 

Castiel is almost asleep, lulled by the constant sounds of Dean's breathing, when Dean strokes down his back. "I saw the invitation," Dean says quietly, no judgement or condemnation in his voice. "On your fridge." 

Castiel stiffens, the habits of a lifetime ingrained in him. _Deny, deny, deny_, his brain shouts, but he knows where that way leads. It leads nowhere good, and anyway, there's no need to lie. Not with Dean's fingers stroking through his hair, constant as his heartbeat. 

"It came yesterday," he says, quiet and neutral. 

Castiel had opened up the envelope, already knowing what it contained. Gabriel had lurked over his shoulder, smelling vaguely of something fruity and alcoholic. "'Tis the season for dickbags," was all he had said before wandering off to break another possession of Castiel's. Castiel had envied him his apathy and had almost wished that he could have the same. That the sight of expensive card stock didn't send his heart racing and his mind immediately spiraling into a steep downward dive. 

"Are you going to go?" Dean asks, voice still blank and non-judgmental. 

Castiel glances up, but in the dark, Dean's face is inscrutable. "What do you think?" 

Dean's fingers stutter over his back. It's the briefest of motions, but it tells Castiel everything. "I don't know," Dean says afterward, but now that he's looking for it, Castiel hears the reluctance in his voice. "It's not my decision." 

Castiel knows that Dean would rather chew his own foot off than attend another of his family's Christmas parties. Castiel can sympathize. He feels much the same, but there's still the crushing weight of obligation pressing down on his chest, the pressure of Michael's regard smothering him until all his self-preservation is squeezed out of him. 

"I don't...I'd rather spend the time with your family," Castiel says. As the words come out of his mouth, something in his chest loosens, and Castiel breathes easier. "You know what Michael's Christmas parties are like. And now, with Gabriel the way that he is? He'll go there intending to start something, and knowing my family, he'll succeed beyond his wildest dreams." 

"Did you ever have a good Christmas party?" 

Castiel snuggles into Dean's chest as he thinks back. "There was one," he says, hands drawing absent designs over Dean's chest. "I was about nine, so Anna was about fourteen?" Fourteen had been the age where Anna had first started showing signs of the disease which would eventually take over her personality. At the time, however, it showed itself in nothing more than mood swings and irritability. Neither of those had been in evidence this particular night, however. 

"Our uncle Charles was still alive, so the atmosphere was more relaxed. Maybe that's just how I remember it. But I do remember that the house was so beautiful. It looked like something out of a dream or a storybook. And the food. Anna snuck us at least three plates and we ate until we were sick." He snuggles into Dean's chest. "There was really nothing special about that night. It was just..." It had been one of the last nights that he and Anna had gotten to enjoy themselves. It had been one of the last nights that Anna had been able to relax into being a child. "It was really nice," Castiel finishes. He sniffles, blinking past the prickling behind his eyes. 

Dean's arms come around him, which is ridiculous because he doesn't need that kind of comfort, he's not a child. He tells Dean as much, even shoves at his chest, but Dean ignores his protests and struggles. "Shut up you idiot," he whispers into Castiel's hair, kissing along his hairline. 

Castiel subsides and accepts the comfort which Dean is offering. It isn't that difficult, in the long run, to do. Dean's arms are warm, his embrace strong, and it manages to touch the starved place deep inside him that still aches for affection and attention. 

Dean noses through his hair to find his forehead. "I think we should spend that night with your family," he says. Something cold wraps around Castiel's chest, all of his hurt places flaring back into awful life. "Hear me out," Dean chides. "I meant your actual family. I think that you, me, and Gabe should go and spend that night with Anna instead of a bunch of pompous stuffed shirts who could give a damn about us." 

Castiel knew that he loved Dean. He loved Dean long before this night, and somewhere along the way, he'd already made the decision to stay with this man for the rest of his life. This night just reaffirms that decision and tells him that Dean deserves every bit of his devotion. "I'd like that," Castiel whispers, pressing his face into Dean's chest. He kisses the flesh underneath his lips, just to affirm for himself that Dean is real, every glorious inch of him. "I think that I'd like that a lot." 

"I love you," he whispers later, when Dean is halfway towards sleep. "I love you so, so much." 

Dean doesn't speak, but his arms tighten around Castiel. It's in this grip that Castiel finally drifts off to sleep. 

\---


	6. angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tree decorating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that the rating has gone up!

\---

Of all Christmas tasks set before him, Castiel minds decorating the Christmas tree the least. It's the kind of repetitive task that he enjoys, one that has a clear beginning and end, and one where he can see the evidence of his progress with every step he takes. Not to mention that when Dean decorates, he hums Christmas music under his breath. Hearing _Away in a Manger_ in Dean's low voice is one of the best rewards Castiel can think of. 

Also, they're at Dean's place, which means, blessedly, no Gabriel. 

Castiel might camp out here for days. 

"Looking good babe," Dean mutters as he takes a step back. "There's an empty space over here; can you grab something to fill it up?"

Castiel reaches into the box and passes Dean an ornament. He's much more interested by the look of concentration twisting Dean's face into the tiniest pout. A thin line appears between Dean's eyebrows, like someone took a pencil and flicked it over the skin. His lower lips sticks out and, if he's thinking hard like he is right at this moment, his chin quivers just a little. As he watches the furrow between Dean's brows deepen, Castiel can see, with startling clarity, what Dean will look like in fifteen years. 

It's a beautiful sight, and one that Castiel wants to see with all his heart. 

So he doesn't roll his eyes when Dean tells him that he's put an ornament in the wrong place. He doesn't wrinkle his nose in disgust when Dean shows him an ornament that Sam and Jess brought back from a business trip to Salt Lake City (_Look Cas, it's made out of salt! You can lick it! Lick it Cas, come on, lick it!_). He doesn't comment when Dean goes and tweaks the branches to what he considers optimal angles. 

In fact, the only thing that can break his mood is the monstrosity that Dean pulls out of the bottom of the box. Dean holds it aloft like he's starring in the shittiest remake of the Lion King. If he tries hard enough, Castiel can almost hear the swelling chorus as Dean holds up the tree-topper for his perusal. "Look at him," Dean breathes. His eyes are actually misty as he stares at the object in his hands. 

It's an angel. But no regular angel with their vapid smiles and empty cornflower blue eyes and cheap blonde polyester hair. No, this is an angel that God looked at and thought better of, this is an angel who might have fallen with Lucifer but got put in the back of the picture lineup with a blurry _Also Pictured_ caption to try and distance them from the rest of the team. This angel either got into too many fights or not enough, depending on how you look at the sneer on their face. This angel is a fan of bargain shopping at the Goodwill and considers $25 a steep price for a new suit. 

The angel's gender is indeterminate, and Castiel's a fan of eradicating the superfluous binaries of society, but it's disturbing, because he can tell that the artist who designed this angel had a clear gender in mind when they placed the facial features on the tiny ceramic head. Castiel just can't figure out which gender was intended, which leaves the angel with an uncanny valley sort of ambiguity in their expressions. 

Forget Elf on the Shelf. If this demon is going to be sitting in Dean's house for the rest of December, Castiel will donate money to any charity he can find, vacuum daily, and even give Gabriel whatever Gabriel's twisted little heart desires. That angel looks into his eyes and _knows_ his sins. 

"Look at him!" Dean says, as he brandishes the angel towards Castiel. Castiel takes an inoffensive step backwards, away from the meanly squinted eyes and goading leer. 

"I am," Castiel says, carefully, because the last time he inadvertently insulted one of Dean's decorations it turned out to be a timeless, priceless relic from his mother. But surely, surely Mary Winchester would have had better taste than to put _this_ monstrosity on her tree? "It's, ah...unique," Castiel says, trying for something diplomatic. 

"Jo picked him up at a yard sale four years ago. He's the best." Dean has the shit-eating grin on his face that says he's perfectly aware of what he's doing. It invites Castiel in on the joke, and after so many years of being on the outside, he relishes the opportunity. 

"And you kept him because...There's an ancient curse and when you picked it up it activated, thus ensuring that you were stuck with this creature until your untimely death?" 

Dean's expression twists into something mingling confusion, exasperation, and fondness. "No, you weirdo. It's funny." 

"It's funny. You think that horrific little thing is...funny?"

"Of course." Dean gives the angel a little threatening shake, which will undoubtedly haunt Castiel's nightmares for days to come. "Look at him." Dean takes his own advice and then looks at Castiel. Castiel very much distrusts the look dawning over Dean's face, and his doubts are validated when Dean says, "You know, he kind of looks like you."

Had Dean slapped him across the face, Castiel could not have been more offended or shocked. He looks from the angel's sneer, to Dean, and back again. Has his boyfriend, the man he loves, the man he contemplates raising children with one day, gone completely insane? 

"You know," Dean says. His voice is a little too even, his face too impassive. As Castiel watches, the corner of his mouth wobbles and twitches. "You have the same, uh...the same eyes. And the same...the same nose. And _he's_ an angel, and you're _named_ after an angel, so...You're like twins." 

By now, Dean's mouth is performing a series of fascinating contortions to remain stationary. Several hitching breaths puff out of his nose and as Castiel continues to stare, a strangled cough rasps out of his throat. 

"Twins," Castiel finally says, and it's that single word that sends Dean in paroxysms of laughter. 

Dean laughs a lot, but these laughs are Castiel's favorites--big belly laughs that come from deep within Dean, that leave him shaking and slapping at his thighs. He reaches out for Castiel, for balance or support, Castiel doesn't know, but it's nice either way. Dean wheezes and Castiel is surprised to see that there are actual tears welling in the corners of his eyes. "Ah Jesus, Cas," Dean chokes out around his laughter. "Come on. Put him on top of the tree. Make friends with him." Dean pushes the angel into Castiel's face, close enough that his eyes cross as he tries to keep eye contact with the gremlin. 

"You're very lucky that I love you," Castiel owns, gingerly accepting the angel from Dean. Part of him wants to refuse, but he's too familiar with the look on Dean's face. This ends with either Castiel storming off, or Castiel putting the dreadful angel on top of the tree. Between the two of them, Castiel knows which one he would prefer. 

He tries not to look at the angel as he stretches towards the top of the tree. He can't believe that he's going to have to look at this creature every time he comes to Dean's house over the next month. Between the angel at Dean's house and the Gabriel at his, Castiel doesn't know which is worse. 

"Mm, that's it baby. Right up on top." Dean crowds behind him, hands on Castiel's hips. Presumably it's to steady him, but, as Dean's thumbs stroke over the thin sliver of skin revealed, Castiel suspects an ulterior motive. "Little bit farther...little more..." Dean turns his head to nuzzle in at Castiel's neck. 

Despite the distractions, Castiel manages to place the angel close to the top of the tree. He rocks back to examine his handiwork, which is exactly what Dean wanted. His arms wrap around Castiel's chest, pulling him closer. 

He places a series of careful nips down Castiel's neck, nosing underneath the collar of his shirt to the skin underneath. "Dean," Castiel pants, as Dean's nips grow a little more insistent, the wandering of his hands a little more purposeful. "Dean." 

"Yeah?" Dean walks them backwards until they're toppling over on the couch in a tangle of limbs. Castiel is fairly certain that his elbow ends up in the vicinity of Dean's stomach, but Dean doesn't complain. Instead, Dean keeps on rolling until he has Castiel on top of him, hands sneaking under the waistband of Castiel's jeans to grope at skin. "What do you want?" Dean asks, craning his head upwards to nip at the column of Castiel's throat. 

"To go somewhere else?" Castiel asks, even as his hips roll down into Dean's. "Somewhere that we're not being watched?" 

"Aw, you don't like an audience?" Dean teases, working at Castiel's belt. "Don't like your twin seeing what you get up to?" He says that just as his hand works its way into Castiel's boxers and wraps around his half-hard dick. 

"You--" Castiel gasps, bucking into Dean's grip, even as he glares down at him. "You can't think of a better mood setter?" 

"Maybe after Christmas I won't even put it away," Dean teases, eyes sparkling wickedly as he works over Castiel. "Maybe I'll keep him in the bedroom. Right on the table." Dean kisses him, hot and insistent. His hand works faster now, its way eased by the precome Castiel is leaking. Dean pulls back, a wide grin on his face. "Maybe he can hold our lube!" 

It's unfortunate that Dean knows which of his buttons to push. Unfortunate, because Dean chooses to push them all almost immediately after saying that horrific sentence. Helpless under the onslaught, Castiel comes into Dean's hand with a low, long groan. 

Dean waits for a few seconds, long enough so that Castiel can catch his breath, and then he's grinning so wide his face threatens to split. "That what gets you hot?" he teases, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Cas' mouth. "Angel holding our lube? Blessing our fornication? Is there an angel of fornication? Can we name our angel that?" 

Dean's teasing stops when Castiel wraps a single, sure fist around him and starts stroking with purposeful motions. If Dean knows all of his buttons, then he knows all of Dean's, and it's not long before Dean is falling apart underneath him, turning his head to gasp his release into the arm of the couch. 

"If you _ever_ bring that hellish thing into our bedroom," Castiel says, punctuating his words with small kisses to Dean's cheeks and forehead, "I promise you that it will find a new home housed up your ass." 

\---

The angel mysteriously is turned around to face the wall the next morning. Dean refuses to explain why, leaving Castiel to assume one of two conclusions: 

1) The angel is actually possessed and will, in short order, make good on its plans to murder both him and Dean in a way that will leave law enforcement baffled for years to come, 

or

2) Dean is actually a kind and caring individual who takes his wishes into account. 

Dean is a kind, caring, compassionate partner who Castiel knows would walk through fire if he asked him to. But between the two options, Castiel's more willing to believe the former.


	7. ghost of christmas future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel has two unpleasant visitors.

\---

It's not a good night. 

Castiel spends thirty minutes longer than usual in the store, due to the congestion from holiday shoppers. He dodges mothers with crying, cranky children, and overly aggressive elderly people who seem to think that their impending demise entitles them to cut line. Entire shelves are wiped clean in the pre-holiday frenzy, and all Castiel really wants is to buy some creamer and some toilet paper. Unfortunately for him, Gabriel gave him a list as long as his arm earlier that morning, saying _We need all of this if you want us to do any kind of baking this weekend_, which. Castiel wasn't aware that he and his cousin had baking plans for the weekend. His weekend plans had included spending time at Dean's house and getting his brains fucked out but apparently he and Gabriel are baking. 

Which is fine. 

It's fine when Castiel has to call Gabriel from the store, speaking over the tinny piped in Christmas music, to ask about replacements for some groceries. It's fine when Gabriel snaps at him and demands that Castiel go to a different store to get what he needs. It's fine when Dean texts him and says that he's not coming over tonight because he just has too much work to do. It's fine when Castiel replies back with a short text of _Excellent. I suppose that I'll just deal with Gabriel and the subsequent Christmas baking Hell by myself then._

It's fine. 

"Aw, you forgot the cardamom," Gabriel pouts, sifting through the bags. "Cas, how are we supposed to make the bread without--"

"Here's an idea," Castiel snaps, slamming his hands on the counter. "How about the next time you want groceries, you take your own car and go to the store and buy it yourself, with your own money? Of which you have much!" 

He storms off, leaving Gabriel to put away the rest of the groceries. There's always the chance that Gabriel will not put the groceries away, in which case Castiel will have wasted about $100, which would just be the shit cherry on this shit sundae of a day. 

After he's in the solitude of his room, he checks his phone. Dean hasn't responded to his text which is fine, because Castiel wasn't expecting him to. It's a little absurd to send a snotty text to someone and expect them to act like everything's fine. 

And it's fine that Dean hasn't texted, it's fine that he snapped at his cousin, it's fine that his groceries might be spoiling, it's fine that he can't seem to shake this black cloud that's followed him around the entire month. 

It's fine.

\---

Castiel wakes to a dimly lit room, which is strange, because he could have sworn that when he fell asleep the lights were out. 

"Gabriel?" he slurs, rubbing at his eyes. 

An ominous laugh greets his question. Castiel's stomach sinks. That laugh heralds nothing good. 

"Gabriel, what did you do?" he calls, feeling a little more alert. 

"Oh, there's no Gabriel here right now," Gabriel's voice answers. 

Castiel is not nearly awake enough for this, but to be fair, he doesn't think that he'll ever be awake enough for this. "Then can I ask who's there?" He stifles a yawn as he slings himself out of bed. Clearly there's not going to be any more sleep for him until he gets to the bottom of the mystery. 

"Come out and see!" Gabriel's voice calls from the living room. 

"I'm sorry that I snapped at you," Castiel replies, shuffling down the hall. "But I really don't think that this is warranted. I have to teach a class tomorrow morning. So can’t you just draw on my face or switch my sugar with salt, or do whatever else it is that you want to do to…punish…”

Castiel’s voice trails off into nothing when he rounds the corner of his hallway and takes full stock of his living room. It’s been transformed into…well, he’s not sure, but it’s certainly not the picture perfect stock photo that it was when he went to bed. 

Presents are strewn about the room, each with their own, brightly colored wrapping paper that shines in the light of dozens of candles placed around the room, in violation of every fire safety law known to man. Tables full of candy and cookies litter the rest of the remaining floor, leaving only a thin sliver of carpet between himself and Gabriel, lounging on a throne that Castiel knows for a fact was not in his living room when he went to bed.

“Gabriel?” Castiel asks, walking into his living room and promptly tripping over a pile of gifts. “What…when did you have time to set this up?” Gabriel’s resources are impressive, but surely Castiel would have noticed an entire moving crew in his house? 

“I told you, there’s no Gabriel here right now!” Gabriel booms. Castiel flicks his eyes over to his cousin and freezes. 

It’s a mark of how magnificently his living room was transformed that he didn’t pay attention to Gabriel’s own transformation. Instead of the increasingly rattier sweatpants and t-shirt that Gabriel’s been slumming around in, his cousin is dressed in a rich, red velvet robe trimmed with—Castiel’s never really seen ermine fur in person before, but he’d bet that’s what lines the neck and hems of Gabriel’s robe. A scepter dangles loosely from the fingers of his right hand, while his left hand holds aloft a blazing torch. A crown of ivy rests on his forehead at a jaunty angle. 

“I’m the Ghost of Christmas Present,” Gabriel announces, and it’s then that Castiel’s stomach drops. 

\---

Despite Castiel’s insistence that he’s dreaming, Gabriel, or the Ghost of Christmas Present, refuses to listen. He even goes so far as crack Castiel across the cheek, leaving his skin stinging and the ridiculous scene in front of him. 

“So now that we’ve got that established,” Gabriel says, a little too smugly, “shall we take a trip?”

“I don’t even _like_ Dickens,” Castiel moans as he falls into step behind Gabriel.

\---

“No,” Castiel says when he recognizes where Gabriel is taking them. “Absolutely not. You antagonize him enough in my waking hours; I’m not going to listen to you disparage Dean while I’m asleep.” 

“Relax,” Gabriel says, placing his palm flat on the door. “He won’t even see us.” 

The door opens soundlessly and Castiel steps in behind Gabriel. He walks on soft feet, avoiding the places in the floor that he knows creak. God, he doesn’t want to wake Dean up in some weird, stalking ritual. 

But Dean isn’t asleep. Dean is sitting in his living room, surrounded by rolls of wrapping paper, tape, bows, ribbons, and name-tags. The strains of soft, jazzy Christmas music fill the air and he even has an image of a fireplace crackling merrily on his TV. 

“Hey Dean!” Gabriel shouts, pushing his face right next to Dean’s. “You’ve got a sweet ass!” Dean never blinks, never gives any indication that there are two other people in the room with him. “See?” Gabriel says, turning to Castiel. “Told you.” 

Castiel retreats with ill humor to the couch. There, he drinks in the sight of Dean that he's so often denied during his waking hours. Dean’s movements are methodical, his hands sure on the scissors as he guides them through the paper. The creases on his boxes are sharp, the tape applied neatly. Each ribbon is curled and matched to the color of the paper, the bows placed at perfect angles. The presents are labeled in Dean’s neat, blocky handwriting—_Sam, Jess, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Charlie…Cas_. 

Dean lingers a little more on the box labeled _Cas_ and despite himself Cas leans forward. No matter how many times he insists that he doesn’t really care about presents, and that material possessions are nothing compared to what Dean gives him every day—He _really_ wants to see what’s in the box. 

It’s not to be. Dean’s phone buzzes on the coffee table, lit up with a text. Cas waits on tenterhooks as Dean picks it up, his face lighting up with pleasure. Then, Cas watches that pleasure dim as Dean reads the text. 

Dean sets his phone down with finality. He turns back to the gifts, but all the light has gone out of his eyes. It’s with a dull interest that he regards the chaos in front of him. 

Unable to stop himself, Castiel cranes his head to see the text. His heart sinks when he reads it. 

It’s the same text that he sent earlier in the evening. 

“Dammit Cas,” Dean growls under his breath. “Just fucking be _happy_.” 

Castiel wants to curl into himself and never come out. He knew that he was making Dean unhappy, he knew it. Despite his best efforts, he can’t force cheer but for so long, and the cracks are beginning to show. He knew that it was taking a toll on Dean, but Dean is a good enough actor and a selfless enough person to try and hide it from Castiel. But here, Castiel can look behind the curtain and see just how much he’s hurting Dean. 

“How long do you think he’s going to hold on?” Gabriel asks, soft and poisonous next to Castiel’s ear. “How long do you think that he’s going to try and force himself to be happy?”

“Shut up,” Castiel grits, clenching his fist. “Just…shut up.” 

“No,” Gabriel says, loud enough that if Dean could hear them, then he’d be falling over from the volume. “You shut up, you pull that stick out of your ass, you get over this idea that you don’t get to be happy.” He points a vicious finger at Castiel. “How long are you going to keep torturing yourself, torturing him?” He points at Dean, who’s headed upstairs, a definite dejected slump to his shoulders. The gifts sit on the floor, like abandoned jewels, and something in Castiel’s chest twists at the sight. 

Dean’s bedroom closes. The sound echoes through the house, reverberating through Castiel’s life. 

“You don’t like your family? Fuck ‘em!” Gabriel throws his hands up. “You don’t like things about your life? Change them!” 

“You think that I haven’t thought about that?” Castiel whirls towards Gabriel. He wants nothing more than to grab that stupid crown off his head and shove it down Gabriel’s throat. “You think it’s that easy?”

“No, I think that you’re that much of a pussy,” Gabriel scoffs. He mimes looking at a watch, then he looks at Castiel with an expression of false shock on his face. “Look at the time! I have to go, but don’t worry. You know the story; someone else is going to be along soon enough for you.” 

Dean’s house starts to dissolve around the edges as a chilly breeze whips around the tips of Castiel’s ears. “No, Gabriel, wait,” he asks, unwilling to be left alone. Gabriel might be shit company, but he is company. “Don’t go.” 

Gabriel shrugs his robe around his shoulders. “Sorry Cassie, you know the rules. Catch ya later!” And then, with a snap of his fingers, Gabriel disappears, leaving Castiel alone in an abruptly chilly, dark world. 

He wraps his arms around himself, searching through the blackness for any hint of light or companionship. “Hello?” he dares to call, starting to shiver. 

He really, really, really _fucking hates_ Dickens. 

Suddenly, the sound of nails on a chalkboard scrapes against his ears. Castiel winces and turns to find a hooded figure standing in the distance. Hell. He’d suspected that this was the direction that his dream was going to take, but he’d hoped…Oh well. Best to get this over with. 

“Yes please, take me to my grave so that I can see the consequences of my actions,” he says, faking a bravado that he doesn’t all the way feel. 

As expected, the ghost doesn’t speak, but instead beckons a skeletal finger in his direction with another creaking screech. 

Sighing, Castiel follows. 

\---

He follows the ghost docilely enough, but when he sees where the ghost’s led him, he digs in his heels. “No, no, no,” he says, jutting his chin out. “Not in a million years.”

Michael’s house looms in front of him, intimidating with the Christmas cheer that it radiates from every pore. Evergreens are strung around the house like freshly scented nooses and the candles in the windows flicker with ominous intent. Inside, Castiel can hear the too-bright sound of laughter. It threatens to shatter the windows. 

The ghost doesn’t respond to his refusal. It just points towards the house, and Castiel sighs again. 

“If you mean that my family has my ashes up on the mantlepiece, then I’m going to be infinitely disappointed,” he murmurs, climbing up the stairs. 

Inside, the house looks just like every Christmas party that Michael’s ever hosted. Everyone hovers just on the wrong side of drunk in their best outfits. Jewelry drips off the women, while the men laugh in brittle chortles. Too-white teeth flash in insincere smiles, and Castiel wants to be gone from this place since the moment he entered. 

He follows the ghost, his unease growing with every step. So far he’s not found his grave or his ashes, or whatever harbinger of his death that the ghost wants to show him. It’s supposed to be something sinister enough to kickstart his spiritual awakening, so shouldn’t the ghost show him something worse than what he’s already been through? 

Finally, the ghost comes to a stop in Michael’s library. This was always Castiel’s favorite room, the dark paneled room providing some kind of comfort. However, there’s no comfort here, as he finally finds what the ghost wanted to show him: himself, cornered by Michael, Lucas, and an incredibly drunk Gabriel. 

“All I’m saying is that she would be perfect for you,” Michael insists, bullying into Castiel’s space. “She’s the heir of Harkins Ltd., we do business all the time.” 

“Think of the connections,” Lucas urges, tilting his glass of champagne. He shifts, allowing Castiel to get a better look at his face. 

Castiel’s not a vain man, but he does have an accurate assumption of his own level of attractiveness. This…This man has lost any semblance of good looks. From the appearance of him, he never had it to begin with. His skin is sallow, his eyes empty. A stubborn dusting of stubble clings to his chin, but it speaks more of slovenliness than rakishness. His clothes are too big and this version of himself hasn’t bothered to have them tailored to fit his thin frame. The way that he holds himself is wrong—defensive, bordering on boorish. 

“I don’t want to meet her,” the worse version of himself says, lifting his chin. He sounds like a peevish old man. He looks worse. Castiel’s stomach turns. 

“Oh come on,” Gabriel goads, pushing at Castiel’s shoulder. “It’s been years. It’s about time you got over whatever his name was. The teacher.” 

Something clenches tight in Castiel’s chest, a fist around his heart. It squeezes mercilessly and refuses to let go. 

His other self looks determinedly out the window while Gabriel talks. “You can’t just let yourself sit and rot. I mean, you might as well do something useful with your life.”

“I can’t…I don’t…Dean, where’s Dean?” Castiel staggers away from the scene in front of him, even as Gabriel continues to poke at the wound. 

“I mean, we’re not going to get any eye-candy that looked as good as him, but if you shape up, you might look good for the photos!” 

“Dean, take me to Dean,” Castiel gasps, bursting out of the door into the cold night. “Please,” he asks the impassive figure of the ghost. “Please, I need to see Dean, I need to—”

The ghost beckons and the world goes soft at the edges until Castiel’s standing on the porch of an unfamiliar house. It’s decorated for the holidays—not gaudy like Michael’s, but cozy. The wreathes are just a little bit off-center, which endears them to Castiel. 

His heart catches when he sees the name on the mailbox at the end of the driveway: _The Winchesters_. 

The ghost points at the front door, which swings open soundlessly. 

Heart pounding, Castiel steps into the house. 

It’s warm and smells of cinnamon and evergreen. Instrumental Christmas music plays on the stereo, drifting through the rooms. Laughter fills the house and Castiel follows the sound all the way to the family room. 

The sight of Dean makes his heart catch and skip a beat, like it always does. This Dean is a little older than his—his laugh lines clearly outlined at the corners of his mouth and at the corners of his eyes. A thin thread of silver winds through his hair. 

He has a child on his lap. 

A boy with vibrant green eyes. 

“Here, let me help you,” Dean murmurs, wrapping his arms around the child and making a tiny tear at the corner of the package. The child laughs in glee as their chubby fingers make short work of the rest of the package. Dean’s eyes crinkle in a smile as he presses his lips to the top of the boy’s head. 

“Did you not wait until I could get pictures?” 

Castiel’s head snaps to the door where a woman stands—pretty, brunette. She has a fond look on her face as she watches Dean and his son, that’s Dean’s _son_ in his lap—

“Couldn’t wait,” Dean says with a guilty look on his face. He cranes his head upwards as the woman enters the room and she bends down and kisses him with such ease that it has to be routine. 

The fist around Castiel’s heart tightens until he can’t breathe. 

Dean is beautiful in his domestic bliss. Dean’s house is beautiful. And Dean’s child…Dean’s child is beautiful. 

“Hey, I saw that Castiel Milton got engaged earlier this week,” the woman says, tucking her feet underneath her as she sits on the couch. “Didn’t you used to work with him?” 

Dean’s hands hardly stutter. “Yeah, but that was a long time ago,” he says easily, reaching for another gift for his son. “Engaged huh? Good for him I suppose. Wouldn’t have thought that he would have…” Dean rolls his eyes. “Suppose that his cousins will be happy at the very least.” 

Dean’s son squeals in delight at the sight of two Nerf guns, and Dean’s face breaks into a sunny smile. “Awesome buddy! Looks like we’re going to have a ton of fun with this!” 

And then he moves on, all thoughts of Castiel forgotten. 

Castiel bursts out of the house, his breath shredding at his throat. He can’t…to see Dean that happy with someone else, to be nothing more than a passing topic of conversation…To see Dean with his child, to know that he had no part in that life—

The ghost stands in front of him, faceless and wordless. “Get me the fuck out of here,” Castiel hisses. “I don’t…Get me the _fuck_ back home.” 

The ghost says nothing before fading away. 

Castiel looks at Dean’s house, despair washing over him at the sight of the Impala parked next to the sensible mid-size SUV with the booster seat in the backseat. There’s a brightly colored jungle gym in the backyard, a basketball hoop in the driveway, brightly colored cartoon reindeer on the windows—It’s an entire life that Castiel can’t touch, can’t come close to anymore—

\---

Castiel wakes in his own bed, gasping. For a moment, he feels that terrible pain in his chest, like his whole world is shattering in the confines of his ribs, and then he remembers. 

Dream. Nothing but a shitty, shitty dream. 

But the look of disappointment on Dean's face lingers, as does the cheery nightmare vision of Dean's house and Dean's wife and Dean's child--

Castiel punches in Dean's contact info before he can stop himself. 

The phone rings twice before the line picks up. Even then, it's a long moment before Dean's voice comes across the line, low and growly and grumpy. "What?" he snaps. 

"Dean." Castiel breathes the name into the phone. 

He can hear Dean sharpening his focus and gathering himself. When he speaks again, it's with the sharp edge of concern against his words. "Cas? Is everything ok?" 

"Yeah, it's fine, I'm fine...I just..." Castiel laughs and knows that the brittle edge of his laugh isn't doing anything to convince Dean that everything is fine. "I just really wanted to talk to you?"

He can tell that Dean is smothering his frustrated groan, which is kind of him. Still, there's an edge of irritation to his voice when he growls, "You wanted to talk at three in the morning? This couldn't _wait_?" 

"No?" A long sigh is Dean's only answer. "I'm sorry," Castiel says after a long moment, when it becomes ever more apparent that instead of finding this behavior quirky, Dean just finds it aggravating. "I just...I felt bad about this evening and I wanted..." Something thick and hot wells up in his throat. "You know that you're the most important thing to me, right?" 

This time when Dean sighs, it's exasperated with a hint of fondness. "Dammit Cas, you couldn't tell me this at a regular time?" 

"No?" 

"Go to sleep asshole. I'll talk to you tomorrow." 

"Yeah. All right." Something in Cas' chest is still tight and uncomfortable, but he supposes that's his own fault for calling at a ridiculous hour when Dean isn't fully awake. 

"Hey Cas," Dean says, his voice already slow and slurred with sleep. "I love you, ok? Even when you call me at ass o'clock in the morning." 

Castiel's chest relaxes and he smiles. "Thank you Dean," he says, soft and sweet. "I love you too." 

Dean hums into the phone before hanging up. Castiel rolls over and tries to pull the reassurance of Dean's love over him, like another blanket, something to keep him warm on the coldest night. 

\---


	8. tinsel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more of Gabriel because I can't help but love him.

\---

Castiel returns to his house to find a silvery nightmare. 

Namely, Gabriel decked out in every bit of tinsel that he could apparently buy from the store. 

"This is what you choose to spend your money on?" Castiel asks, stepping gingerly over the piles of tinsel, coiled like a viper ready to spring. "You didn't look for a new place? Or refurbish one of your current places? Or give to charity? Or do anything except buy entirely too much tinsel for a house that neither wants nor needs it?"

"I thought you told me just the other day that you weren't going to be so awful," Gabriel whines. He sashays (there's no other word for it) up to Castiel and tosses a length of tinsel around his neck. 

Castiel hopes, for a brief, fervent moment, that he can hang himself with this tinsel. 

For his part, Gabriel twirls the end of his tinsel around, like he's a dancer in a burlesque club and the tinsel is his feather boa. Castiel halfway expects the bass to drop and the sultry jazz to begin. Gabriel goes so far as to swat him underneath the nose with the end of his string of tinsel. 

"Come on, it's going to brighten the place up. You need a little bit of cheer in here." The state of his house is so devastating to Gabriel that he doesn't bother to comment on his unintentional rhyme. 

"The house has cheer. It's cheerful. Look at it." 

Castiel indicates the house, which is about as far away from cheer as a funeral home. 

Gabriel follows Castiel's arm. The corners of his mouth turn down in a frown. 

"Where's the cheer?" Gabriel asks, after a long pause. 

Castiel rolls his eyes and tosses his hands up towards the ceiling. "Wherever you want it to be," he snaps. "Isn't that the point of the holiday? That you can find the Christmas spirit wherever you go? Well, find your cheer without managing to make the house look like a damn elf shit over the walls!" 

His words bounce off the walls and slam back into his skull. Gabriel listens to the echoes that they make as his eyebrows creep further and further up his forehead. 

"Yeah." Gabriel manages to drag the single syllable into at least five syllables. "The Christmas spirit is really strong here." 

Castiel rubs at his temples. He's defeated by his stress, by the workload of impending exams, by his own inability to just be _happy_ during December. 

"It's fine. It's fine, God, it's fine. Put the tinsel wherever you want. Put it all over the walls. Jesus." Castiel sinks into his couch, suddenly very tired. 

He wants nothing more than to curl into the cushions and cease to be, at least for a few hours. But life isn't that kind. Instead, he exists for the full duration of the hug that Gabriel forces on him. It's excruciating, especially when Gabriel starts to hum under his breath and rock him back and forth. Gabriel also hasn't showered in a few days, which means that hugging him is an exercise in bravery. 

"I just like the way that it looks. It makes everything look..." Gabriel sighs, unwontedly serious. "You know the way that the house was always decorated for the holidays." 

Castiel scoffs. "What do you mean? There were always professionals who came in and decorated on December 1st." 

"That's exactly what I mean. Never a holly leaf out of place or a candle with a darkened wick. You couldn't even breathe on the tree for fear of knocking an ornament askew. But then I moved out and got a place with Kali, and we would just throw tinsel everywhere during the holidays. Just throw it around and wherever it landed, it landed." Gabriel makes a tiny, sad noise. "You should have seen how it looked draped over her swords." 

There's a sniffle against his shoulder, followed by a spreading dampness. Disgust and horror push at Castiel, but he manages to fight it back as he pats at Gabriel's head. "There, there?" he tries. 

"I just miss her," Gabriel sniffs. "And I thought that putting the tinsel up would make me feel better, but it just makes me miss her...the fires that she would set...the way that she could just _look_ at you and you'd feel like you were getting flayed..." 

Castiel's glad that Gabriel can't see the expression on his face. He pats at Gabriel's head, his fingers mussing the blond hair. 

"And I know that growing up in that house wasn't a piece of cake for you, so I thought that putting the tinsel up would make you feel better too," Gabriel finishes. 

Castiel rolls his eyes to the ceiling. He bites his lip before saying the words that he knows he's going to regret. 

"All right. Let's you and me decorate the house tomorrow night." 

Gabriel pulls away. His smile is blinding; his eyes sparkling. "Really? You mean it?" At Castiel's nod, he springs up off the couch, twirling his tinsel around. He's seemingly ignorant of the several times it slaps Castiel in the face. "Oh, this is great. I've already bought some stuff, but I can have more delivered tomorrow. We can invite Dean over, tell him to bring some of that alfredo that he makes, I can bake up some cookies--"

Castiel watches Gabriel drape tinsel over his every possession and can't shake the feeling that he's made a terrible, terrible decision. 

\---


	9. mistletoe kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooooooooow, it's been a while! 
> 
> With the return of the holidays, it's time to pick this little gem up again. Enjoy fluffy holiday schmoop, with just a tiny sprinkling of drama.

\---

Castiel doesn't know what he did to deserve the karmic punishment of multiple holiday parties, but whatever sin he committed, he thoroughly repents of it. 

There's the university party (unavoidable; these are the people who sign his paycheck), the annual party for Lawrence High School (unavoidable; Castiel is a Good Boyfriend and will support Dean through every hardship), the Milton family Christmas party (Castiel would rather throw himself down a flight of stairs than be subjected to that exquisite form of torture), and now the Winchester family party, held at Sam's house (completely and utterly unavoidable; Castiel would rather attend fourteen Milton family parties than miss a single party thrown by Sam). 

And Castiel loves Sam, he really does. Quite apart from being an almost brother-in-law, Sam is one of his best friends. He's kind, and intelligent, and doesn't make fun of Castiel when he tries to introduce some form of vegetable into Dean's diet. 

He's also tipsy on eggnog and pushing another glass into Castiel's hand. While the eggnog is delightful, warm and sprinkled with cinnamon and nutmeg and with just the right kick of rum, Castiel's already had two and probably shouldn't indulge in any more. He already knows he'll be driving home tonight: Dean is on his fourth eggnog and flushed bright with them. His reindeer antlers are askew and his Christmas sweater jingles with sinister aggression. 

His boyfriend is wearing a Christmas sweater with bells on it. 

If he didn't love the man so much, Castiel would seriously regret each and every decision which led him to this point. 

"Cas!" Dean cries when he sees him, like they've been separated for several weeks instead of for fifteen minutes. Castiel lets himself be enveloped in Dean's embrace, not even complaining when a little of the eggnog in the glass slops over onto his hand. Instead, he allows the warm press of Dean's lips on his temple to light him up from the inside out. His jagged edges smooth out until he's soft and gooey. 

Castiel spent a lifetime sharpening himself into a perfect weapon, but all it takes is one soft touch from Dean Winchester to make him melt. It would be embarrassing if it weren't perfect. 

"Jess," Dean says, lifting his eggnog in an impromptu toast. "Jess makes the _best _eggnog." He stares at Sam with uncommon intensity. "If you ever fuck this up, I'll kill you." 

"Don't worry," Jess says, coming up from behind Sam to join their conversation. Her arm slides easily around Sam's waist as she leans into him. "I've already got a perfect spot picked out to hide the body, just in case." She grins and pats Sam's chest when he makes an outraged sound. 

"Do you have a spot picked out for me?" Dean asks, glancing over at Castiel. "For my body?" he clarifies. 

"Jess and I have a timeshare," Castiel answers easily. He kisses Dean's cheek in apology. "Don't worry, it's very tasteful." 

"Well, as long as you make it look good." 

It's the nature of parties that he and Dean eventually separate. The entire Winchester/Singer/Harvelle extended family clan is here, and to move through the party as a unit is not only ill-advised, it's also impossible. Castiel spends several minutes chatting with Charlie before her attention is stolen by Jess. He then meanders into the kitchen where he finds Ellen, who insists that he looks "skinny" and proceeds to foist several different snacks on him. He eventually manages to escape, though not before he's weighed down with more crackers and cheese than he can comfortably stand, and tries to sneak back into the living room to find Dean. 

Instead, he finds the younger Winchester brother. "Hey, Cas," Sam greets him. He seems to have come down somewhat from his tipsy high earlier, though his cheeks are still a little flushed. 

"Hello, Sam." Castiel still wants to look for Dean, but he lingers. Sam's posture screams that he has something on his mind, and Castiel would be cruel to walk away from him now. "Is everything all right?" 

"I'm glad you're with Dean," Sam blurts out, so suddenly that Castiel has to assume that there was more of a buildup in Sam's mind. 

"I'm glad I'm with Dean, too," Castiel says gently. "Your brother... Not many people would have forgiven me." 

Sam's mouth twists in a wry grin. "Not many people would have been worth forgiving."

"I want to spend every day showing Dean that he made the right choice. I just want to make your brother happy." 

Castiel's never had to explain his intentions to a family member before. He finds, oddly enough, that he rather enjoys the experience. 

"He's happy with you." 

Castiel basks in the sentence. He _knows _of course, that Dean is happy; Dean tells him at least once a week how happy he is. But it's different hearing it from an outside source, from someone who is a relatively unbiased source. 

"Look, I know that Dean around the holidays is... a lot," Sam says carefully. He looks at Castiel through his bangs and there's something guilty about the shuffle of his feet. From that look, Castiel can guess that Dean's shared some of his family history. Though a quick bolt of shame lances through him, Castiel truly isn't angry. "He tends to go a little overboard, but I think in part that's because of..." Sam sighs. "Until we came to live with Ellen and Bobby full-time, we never really had a Christmas, and I think sometimes, Dean is trying to make up for lost time. Either that, or he just really enjoys eggnog." 

"It can't be both?" Castiel asks. His joke is weak, but it does startle a little laugh out of Sam. 

"Yeah," he says, his posture looser and easier than before. "Anyway. I know that it's probably not your favorite time of the year, and Dean is probably really overbearing about it, but..."

"I told you, I want to make him happy. I _enjoy _seeing him happy. And if the price of seeing him happy is going along with his enthusiasm, well then, that's a small price to pay." Castiel smiles softly as he remembers the press of Dean's lips to his skin, damp and smelling vaguely of nutmeg. "I love seeing him like this." 

"Okay, that's enough," Sam says, delivering a patented Winchester backslap. It's strong enough to buckle Castiel's knees, and he wishes, not for the first time, that the Winchesters had a slightly less violent way of demonstrating their affection. "Look, I recognize that schmoopy look. I've seen it too many times on Dean's face when he talks about you, and I really don't want to hear you wax poetic about the tip of his nose, or how he brushes his hair, or whatever other weird shit you want to talk about." 

It's definitely the eggnog that heats Castiel's cheeks. Definitely the eggnog and the rum, and not embarrassment at being caught out in such obvious sentimentality by Sam Winchester. "I think I should go find Dean," he mutters, looking anywhere but the all-too knowing expression on Sam's face. 

"Yeah. I'm going to need about a dozen or so more drinks to wipe that expression out of my mind." Though Sam's words are teasing, the expression on his face is fond as he steers Castiel through the house with an easy hand on his shoulder. "I think I last saw him in the dining room, setting up the beer pong--" 

"Stop right there!"

Jo's fairly petite form contains a truly tremendous voice, and she unleashes it now. Castiel freezes, both from her command and also from fear that the echoes from her bellow will make the light fixtures fall from the ceiling. He and Sam both look at her, wild-eyed as deer caught in headlights. 

"Jo, what the hell?" Sam rasps, but he's interrupted by her gleeful shriek as she points to the top of the doorframe. 

"Mistletoe, bitches!" she crows, and the demented jab of her finger takes on new meaning. 

With dawning horror, Castiel cranes his head to look upward at his doom. Above his head, a tiny sprig of mistletoe dangles, seemingly innocuous. The ribbon tied around the evergreen glitters with menacing glee. He swears there are teeth nestled in the crags of the leaves. 

It's like a scene from one of Castiel's worst, holiday-fueled nightmares, come to life. He's standing underneath mistletoe, with Sam Winchester, his perhaps, maybe one day brother-in-law, with the rest of his boyfriend's extended family looking at him in various forms of glee and concern. 

Sam looks at him in disgusted horror. Castiel feels the same. While Sam Winchester is objectively attractive, kissing him would be akin to kissing... His brain is too frantic searching for escape routes to come up with an appropriate analogy, but safe to say, he finds it vaguely repulsive. 

"You know the rules," Jo says, taking a long sip from her eggnog. It is possible that she has consumed too much eggnog over the course of the evening. "You don't want to tempt the wrath from high atop the thing." 

Someone starts a chant of _kiss kiss kiss. _Castiel doesn't know who it is, but he vows to find them and quietly murder them after all this is done. 

Sam looks at him. He looks at Sam. His stomach churns as he watches Sam's expression go through the full five stages of grief, finally landing on acceptance. Oh no. This is happening. This is going to happen. This will happen. 

Time slows down as Sam starts to lean forward, and why had Sam been so heavy-handed on those eggnogs? Why hadn't Castiel slapped the drinks out of his hands? Why had he agreed to come to this party? Why did he ever choose to make his residence in Lawrence, Kansas? 

Sam's lips are closer to his face than he would ever like them to be. If Castiel makes it out of his alive, he's not going to be able to see Sam for at least a year. Maybe two. 

"Cas, there you are. What the--" 

Dean's voice is a splash of ice-water dumped over top his head, both salvation and ruination. Castiel turns towards him, just in time to watch his boyfriend lower his head and rugby-tackle Sam to the ground. They hit with a colossal crash that threatens to upstage Jo for the award of _Loudest Thing Ever__, _and then Castiel is forced to witness his boyfriend rabbit-punch his brother several times in the ribs. Meanwhile, Sam's abnormally long legs flail through the air, like the world's most disproportionate tortoise forced onto its back. 

"Knock it off," he grunts, trying to grapple with Dean. "It's not like I was going to go through with it; I mean, come on, it's _Cas!" _

Castiel spares a moment to feel strangely insulted. 

"My boyfriend," Dean snarls as he digs his knuckles into Sam's skull. "Who _you _were going to put your gross Sasquatch lips all over!"

Castiel finally manages to break free of his stupor. "Dean!" he shouts, ignoring the _Aw, come on, it was just getting good! _from Jo. He makes yet another mental note to murder Jo. Clearly, dating Charlie has been a bad influence on her. Or, perhaps not, he thinks, as he hears Charlie shout _Dean, pull his head to the side, I need a better angle! _

"Dean!" he shouts again, and this time, it seems to break through. Dean looks at him and then looks moderately embarrassed. 

"Hey, Cas," he says, seemingly unembarrassed of the fact that his brother's face is currently stuffed in his armpit. "I was looking for you." 

"Will you...stop?" It's a mark of how absurd his life has become that Castiel can ask this question with a straight face. 

"Yeah, of course." Dean releases Sam, who gets off one last parting shot to Dean's kidneys as they're disentangling themselves from each other. It causes Dean to stumble forward and he joins Castiel underneath the cursed mistletoe. 

"Hey," Dean says, his lips quirking upwards in a lopsided grin. Despite the previous churning of emotion, Dean's smile still makes Castiel's heart flip. "We're standing under mistletoe." 

"Yeah." Despite knowing of its existence, Castiel still cranes his head to look upward. He looks back at Dean and takes half a step backward when he sees the mischievous glint in Dean's eyes. "No. Absolutely not. Dean, it's an outdated tradition with no clear origins except an apocryphal tale from Norse mythology." 

"You don't want to tempt the wrath from high atop the thing," Dean whispers, before he leans in and kisses Castiel. 

With Dean's lips against his, it's easy to forget all of the eyes upon them. It's easy to put himself anywhere else when Dean's arms wind around his waist, pulling him closer. One of them makes a soft noise, either Dean or him, it doesn't matter. What matters is the taste of rum and cinnamon on his lips, the feel of Dean's short hair underneath his fingers, baby-soft and fine where it curls against the nape of his neck. 

He gets lost in kissing Dean and probably would have happily stayed that way, if it weren't for a gruff "All right, you two idjits, time for you to get a room." 

Dean pulls away, just far enough so that he can press his forehead against Castiel's. His eyes slant to the side, where they land on Bobby. He looks less than happy to witness them starting to round first base. Castiel is just shy of mortified, but Dean chuckles. "That's what you get for putting up mistletoe and subjecting people unaware to mistletoe." Dean tosses a look to Jo, who has the common sense to look abashed. But only slightly. 

Dean turns back to Castiel. "Hey, Cas. How about for an early Christmas present, you and I get out of here?" 

"I knew there was a reason I liked you," Castiel breathes. "Sometimes, you're kind of smart." 

"I'll make up for it somehow," Dean grins. He drops his hand and entangles his fingers with Castiel's. "You hear that, assholes?" He pitches his voice to reach through the corners of the house, and Castiel understands where Jo learned her tricks. "We're going home! To do something private!" 

"Jesus, Dean," Sam says, looking a little green around the gills. "Have some class." 

"We're going home to have sex," Castiel enunciates, because Jo and Charlie might have picked up some bad habits from each other, but so have he and Dean, and he's not above using those habits to torture Sam. (It is possible that he's still a little hurt over the utter revulsion in Sam's voice. Castiel might have felt exactly the same, but he didn't feel a need to voice it aloud.)

"Castiel Milton!" Sam's mouth hangs open, aghast. "I expected more from you!" 

"Did you though?" Castiel smirks as Dean starts to tug him through the house. "Did you really?" 

Dean's laugh echoes through the house as they leave. It lifts with the song playing on the radio, something about _simply having a wonderful Christmastime, _and Castiel thinks that he could come to enjoy Christmas parties, if they all end like this. 


	10. chimney

\---

It's a quiet night, one where Castiel feels justified in setting aside his worries and frustrations and just enjoy his time with Dean. His belly is full, courtesy of a dinner expertly cooked by Dean, and Gabriel is thankfully out (where, Castiel didn't bother to ask; experience has taught him that plausible deniability is the best policy when it comes to Gabriel). There's a holiday baking show on the TV, and for once the forced strings of holiday music don't grate on Castiel's ears. The contestants laugh and giggle and use entirely too much powdered sugar to create snowy scenes, but they seem to be having a good time while doing so. Castiel burrows deeper into the cushions of the couch and lays his head down on Dean's chest. He smiles as Dean idly plays with the hair at the nape of his neck. For once, he and Dean seem to be on the same page. 

His house is a casualty of the Christmas argument: tinsel is strewn haphazardly throughout his living room, courtesy of Gabriel's decorating skills. Christmas lights are carefully strung around the ceiling and chimney, their painstaking placement a testament to Dean's care and attention to detail. And then there's the stark lack of a tree, which screams of Castiel's reluctance to buy one. 

_("If you're going to have one at your house, then I don't see the point of me having one," he complained as Dean not-so-subtly steered them towards the twinkling display of Christmas trees. "It just seems like a lot of extra work." _

_"Because it'll look good," Dean whined, but upon seeing the look Castiel's face, he hadn't pressed the issue any further.)_

Castiel feels that this debate will most definitely end with him succumbing and getting a Christmas tree, but he can still pretend. 

"You need to get some stockings," Dean murmurs, breaking their quiet reverie. Castiel cranes his head to look up at him, and Dean smiles, a little rueful now that he's been caught out. "You've got a chimney, and a mantle," Dean indicates the features with an incline of his head, "so you need some stockings to decorate them." 

Castiel hums, but Dean, too caught up in his fantasy, ignores his apparent disinterest in the conversational topic. "No, we could get matching ones that say _Dean _and _Castiel, _and I guess we could even get a _Gabriel _one."

Despite himself, Castiel smiles. "We'd have to get mine special-ordered," he gently reminds Dean. 

"Yeah, I guess we would," Dean says, a wry grin on his face as he looks down at Castiel. "Can't imagine that name was a popular one in the personalized section." 

"You know, I never did find it amongst the _Johns _and _Patricias." _

Dean chuckles, a soft breath blown through his nostrils. Castiel turns his attention back to the chimney. Though Dean didn't mean to, he inadvertently kicked a nest of memories. Now unleashed, those memories buzz around his head, so thick and pervasive that he eventually has to voice them or else risk being swept away. 

"I never had a stocking when I was growing up." 

Castiel doesn't think he was shouting, but he still feels the flinch which travels through Dean's body. Dean's touch, when it returns, is a little too deliberate, like Castiel is a ticking bomb with only seconds to go. After a few moments, the touch softens and becomes more natural. 

"Dad was never much for Christmas. I don't think he really paid attention to the seasons. Anna tried her best when we were younger, but she couldn't really do anything else other than lift sweets from the store. She tried, you know, but our house was small and we didn't really have a lot to work with, as far as Christmas was concerned. We didn't even have a chimney to hang stockings from." 

Castiel's throat feels strange, like it's trying to close up, but he forces himself to keep talking. Dean deserves at least an explanation. "And then, after Dad... After, when we moved to Michael's house, the first time December rolled around, all the decorators came, and I remember thinking _This is how other people do it. This is what Christmas was always supposed to be like. _And I went to Michael, and I asked where my stocking would go." 

Dean's nose presses into the top of his head. Through the curtain of his hair, Castiel feels the humid spread of Dean's breath spreading across his scalp. Dean's arms are tight around his chest, to the point where Castiel can feel his restraint thrumming through his biceps. He twists over to the side, pressing a kiss to Dean's shoulder, the only part of Dean's body that he can easily reach. 

"And I remember the look he gave me, because it was the first time he ever looked at me like that. He looked at me like he'd just realized that I existed, but he wasn't happy about it. It wasn't disdain because he didn't care enough for that. It was just... Irritation. Like some amoeba had gotten mouthy with you." 

He hears Dean breathe out the word _Asshole _into his hair, but Castiel doesn't think he was meant to hear it, so he ignores it. 

"And he just told me, _Castiel, there's not room for you up there. _And I'll always remember the way he said it. Like he was frustrated that I was too stupid to figure it out for myself and he had to waste time telling me how the world worked."

"Fucking dick," Dean says, louder this time for Castiel to hear. 

"And I guess after that, I never bothered about it. Holidays were for networking, not family. My place wasn't on the chimney or on the mantle; no one's was. Our places was on the floor, like little jewels." Castiel rolls his eyes at his own melodrama. "I was just a stupid kid. Teenager. Whatever." 

He knows that he's not the only one who has horror stories of his childhood. Not that it's a competition, but he knows Dean's stories could put his to shame, and it's selfish of him to be complaining of his relatively charmed life. 

Dean is silent for a long time afterward. It's not exactly a comfortable silence, nor is it an ominous one. Instead, it's thoughtful. Castiel knows, by now, the quiet of Dean putting his thoughts in order. He gently takes Dean's hand and presses their palms together, twining their fingers together. Dean thoughtlessly reciprocates the gesture, squeezing once. Relieved, Castiel drops his head to Dean's shoulder. 

"You know there's a place for you here, right?" Dean finally asks. Castiel rolls his eyes up to meet Dean's gaze. "With us. Sam, Charlie, Jo... Me." Dean's eyes dart away after he says the last word, and Castiel recognizes the evasion for what it is. 

"I know," he says, and it's the truth. Maybe once he wouldn't have believed it, but he and Dean have been through hell and back and come out the other side intact. There's nowhere else he could be, nowhere else he _wants _to be. Dean's made a place for him in his life, and Castiel readily accepts it. 

The heavy silence lasts for a few more beats, and then Castiel asks, "Is this just your way of saying that you want to go shopping for stockings?" 

A short laugh bursts out of Dean. The corners of his eyes crinkle with his grin. "I was thinking about making you one instead. That way I could write your name on it like a middle-school girl, complete with a little heart over the 'i'." 

Castiel rolls his eyes, and the tension of the moment evaporates. Their conversation shifts instead to Dean's aspirations for his next baking project to potential day trips they could take over Christmas break. Castiel responds, but his eyes keep falling to the fireplace and mantle. Currently they're empty, but Dean's words keep floating around his head. 

_You know there's a place for you here, right? _

For the first time in Castiel's life, he contemplates the idea of finally making a home. 

\---


	11. christmas story

\---

"Come on, Cas, it's a classic." 

"It's overrated." 

"I _can't put my arms down!" _

Castiel closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He tries to count to ten, but only gets to seven before Gabriel is gasping, "It was..._soap! Poisoning!" _

He curses every cable channel twenty-four hour marathon. 

His kitchen contains the two warring odors of popcorn and brownies. The popcorn is courtesy of Dean, while the brownies are Gabriel's creation. His cousin is a surprisingly adept baker, which raises him in Dean's esteem. Castiel reluctantly accepts a brownie and tries not to show his appreciation as the thick, warm, gooey fudge fills his mouth and bursts over his tongue. 

It was Dean's idea to have this movie night, and Castiel had reluctantly accepted. His acceptance had taken on an even more reluctant edge when Gabriel invited himself, seemingly unconcerned of his role as either third-wheel or cock-block. Dean, much to his surprise, hadn't complained when Castiel announced that his cousin was planning on joining their date night. 

"He's lonely," he said, scooting backward so that his back was firmly plastered against Castiel's chest. "I mean, his girlfriend just dumped him right in time for the holidays and he's tailspinning. Poor guy probably needs something to keep his mind off of things." 

"Don't feel sorry for him, that's how he'll rope you in," Castiel murmurs, but he presses a kiss to the back of Dean's neck to soften his reprimand. "Fine. We'll allow my cousin, who is by all accounts a pathological monster, to invade our romantic night. Don't complain when he shows up at your house at 3 in the morning drunk off his ass." 

Castiel had been against it, but Dean had wanted it, and so Castiel bid farewell to his thoughts of lying Dean down and making sweet love to him (or at the very least exchanging lazy, half-asleep handjobs on the couch before they went to bed), and instead resigns himself to forming the filling on a sandwich between his cousin and his boyfriend. 

Putting his romantic ideas to bed became much easier when he realized that Dean intended for them to watch _A Christmas Story, _possibly the least romantic Christmas movie of all time. Dean chortles through the opening scenes, and in between sips of his beer, Castiel catches him mouthing the lines. If he had memorized a better movie, then Castiel might find it endearing. 

Looking at Dean is still better than looking at Gabriel, who seems to be under a mission to unhinge his jaw and shove as much popcorn into his mouth as humanly possible. Dean is slightly obnoxious, but Gabriel is grotesque. 

Prompted by nothing, Dean comments, "Sam loved this movie growing up. He would watch it every Christmas, for hours on end." A muscle twitches in his jaw. "I'd wake up at the crack of dawn and that damn movie would be playing. And it would keep playing, all damn day, commercials and all. It was the most annoying thing in the world, but what the hell was I going to tell him? That he couldn't watch it? It wasn't like Dad or I had done a great job giving him a normal Christmas. If we were lucky, Dad would remember and buy us some aftershave or something." 

Castiel swallows. He knows this is repayment, of a sort, Dean offering some of his truth in return for what he gave previously, but he also knows that this sort of truth is vicious and violent, best kept close to the chest. That Dean is revealing it at all is a momentous gift. That Dean is revealing this in front of Gabriel... 

"Our first Christmas together, Kali took us to Bali. She didn't celebrate Christmas, and I wanted to be anywhere else other than at the family mansion, so we just went. We didn't even pack a bag; we just bought clothes at the airport." Gabriel stares straight ahead at the television, though Castiel doubts he's seeing anything of import. "We spent two weeks lying on the beach, drinking everything out of coconuts. For two weeks, I didn't think about anything else other than her." 

Castiel gapes at his cousin. Beside him, Dean's silence could best be described as stunned. Gabriel tilts his head. His smile is forced, and there's something desperate at the edges of it. Gabriel is ripping off the bandages to his wounds, yet begging them not to acknowledge them. 

"One Christmas," Castiel begins. At first, he's unsure of what story he can offer up, but it comes to him even as he speaks. "I knew this absolute idiot. I'd already said that I wasn't decorating or celebrating, but he took it upon himself to break into my house and decorate it." 

"Is it breaking in when you use a key?" Dean murmurs, but a well-placed dig of Castiel's fingers into the soft spot between his ribs silences him. 

"So I come home, exhausted, irritated, and just generally feeling like shit. I'm ready to have a drink or three and then collapse into bed, but instead the lights flick on and I'm greeted with this Winter Wonderland look, but all I can think of is that Santa snuck into my house so that he could murder me." 

Gabriel snorts. "I think I've seen pornos that started that way." 

"Get your mind out of the gutter," Castiel scoffs. "That night was pure." 

He makes the mistake of looking at Dean and falls into the mesmerizing pit of his eyes. They're soft and crinkled around the edges. His lips curve upward in a smile that Castiel longs to kiss. He could spend hours staring into that beloved face. He's already memorized all of its planes and curves, but every second brings a new revelation. 

"All right, gross. I'm out. You two make out or eye-fuck or do whatever else it is that you do." Gabriel claps Castiel on the knee as he gets up from the couch. "Just if you guys do decide to form the beast with two backs, can you keep it down? I need to keep my ears virgin-pure." 

Castiel scoffs. He doubts that any part of his cousin has come close to virgin-pure for many, many years. His witty retort is stoppered when Dean says, "Sorry to disappoint you, but I probably need to head home." 

Castiel's head jerks up. This is the first he's hearing of Dean going home. "I thought you were spending the night?" he asks, trying to keep the vague note of accusation out of his voice. 

Dean doesn't quite look guilty, but he does shift on the couch. "I didn't bring a change of clothes, and I need to go to work tomorrow," he says. His voice is pitched low. Gabriel does an admirable job of pretending like he's not leaning in closer to listen. "I can't go into work wearing the stuff that I keep here." 

Dean has a drawer at his house, but he keeps mostly his weekend or sleep clothes there; nothing that he could wear to the classroom. Castiel frowns. "Wear some of my things." He doesn't mean to be stubborn, but after tonight, he doesn't want to let Dean wander out of the house. He wants to curl up tonight with Dean and feel his warmth permeating through the sheets. "My pants may be a little short on you, but not so that anyone would notice." He pushes the knowledge that Gabriel is no doubt watching them out of his mind and strokes over Dean's knuckles. "I just... Can you stay? Please?" 

The stubbornness in Dean's eyes softens. "Yeah, Cas. I can stay. That's fine." A self-deprecating look crosses Dean's face. "Jo's going to give me hell tomorrow about looking like I'm preparing for a flood, but sure, I'll borrow some of your clothes." 

"I'm six feet tall," Castiel says, retreading the familiar ground of an old argument. "You and your brother are just freakishly tall." 

"I'll second that," Gabriel chimes in. Castiel starts. He'd honestly forgotten Gabriel was in the room. "I have no idea what the hell they fed you when you were kids, but whatever it was, it probably shouldn't spread to the general populace." 

"Eh, mostly just Spaghetti-O's and Lucky Charms," Dean says, with an easy charm that doesn't reach entirely to the corners of his eyes. "It's just our superior Winchester genes." He tangles his fingers with Castiel's and raises their entwined knuckles to his lips. "Anyway. If you don't mind, I think Cas and I are going to go enjoy a night of sweet, sweet lovemaking." 

Castiel almost gags. Gabriel actually does gag. 

Dean doesn't quite heft him over his shoulder in a caveman's show of possession, but he does everything but. Within short order, Castiel finds himself bundled back into the bedroom and the door shut behind them. His hand is still in Dean's, but other than that small gesture of affection, Dean makes no indication of starting the lovemaking. 

"Hey," he says instead, crowding close to Castiel before pressing their foreheads together. "I know I just said all that shit back there, but I'm feeling a little tired, is it all right with you if we just sleep?"

"Oh, thank god," Castiel says, pressing a swift kiss to the corner of Dean's mouth. "I didn't know how to tell you that I wasn't in the mood for our normal passionate lovemaking." 

"Please don't call it that."

"You said it first. I'm just continuing." 

Dean wipes his smirk away with a long, assertive kiss which makes Castiel reconsider his former status on the lovemaking, but when Dean pulls away, he's reminded of why he made his original decision. Exhaustion hits him, and all he wants to do is sleep. Preferably curled around Dean's body. 

"I guess you should start keeping some of your work clothes here as well," he says as he strips down and makes his way to the bathroom. He starts brushing his teeth, and it's only when he leans over to spit that he realizes Dean is staring pensively into his closet. "Everything all right?" he asks, and Dean shakes himself out of his thoughts. 

"Yeah, everything's fine. Just thinking." 

"Hm. Don't do that too much; don't want you to hurt yourself." Castiel tempers his acerbic comment with a soft kiss to Dean's temple. "Come to bed." 

"Yeah, in a second. I have to brush my teeth, you heathen." 

The sounds of Dean performing his nightly rituals provide the backdrop to Castiel sliding into bed. He stretches out on his mattress, noticing with some discomfort the sag in the middle. He'll die before admitting it, but Dean's memory foam mattress is more comfortable. His back certainly complains less the next morning when he ends up spending the night with Dean. 

Before too long, Dean is sliding into bed. His back easily fits to Castiel's chest, and Castiel holds him close. His chin hooks over Dean's shoulder. He can tell, even now, that Dean is mulling something over in his mind, but he also knows that pushing Dean before he's ready to share will lead to some sort of adverse reaction. So Castiel doesn't prod him beyond a "Is everything all right?" 

"Yeah." Dean's hand settles over his, pulling up so that Castiel's palm rests directly over his heart. "Everything's fine." After a short pause, Dean adds, "I love you." 

Castiel relaxes, knowing that Dean never uses those words to plaster over an apology. He only says them if he means them. "I love you too," he replies, kissing Dean's shoulder softly. "Go to sleep, all right?" 

Dean squeezes his hand. "You don't want to pretend to have sex just to creep Gabriel out?" 

_"Dean. Sleep." _

\---


	12. elves

\---

Castiel likes to regard his office at the university as his sanctuary. It's his home away from home, and in the span of a year, he's created a place where he feels comfortable working. Surrounded by his books, with his desk lamp lighting the room, in one of the plush, leather chairs, he can while away the hours grading and planning. Hannah accuses him, sometimes jokingly and sometimes not, of being territorial with his space. It's an accusation which Castiel has never tried to disprove, mostly because he knows he wouldn't be able to do so. 

When he walks into his office on Tuesday morning, Castiel walks into a world gone topsy-turvy. 

In a direct mirror of his house, tinsel hangs from almost every surface: his bookshelves, his framed pictures, his desk, and even his window. A line of Santas all leer at him where they've been thumbtacked to the walls. A window cling urges him to have a _MERRY CHRISTMAS _while underneath his feet a rug orders him to_ BE JOLLY. _Bells jingle and jangle, disturbed when he opened the door. 

All in all, Castiel feels like he's been shoved into a Christmas nightmare. This might be what the inside of Santa's asshole looks like, and he for one, finds it a disturbing place to be. He takes a step out of his door, ready to bellow for help in dismantling this festive nightmare, when a voice interrupts him. 

"It's good, isn't it?" 

Castiel inhales once. Then, when that doesn't manage to clear away his irritation, he does it again. Then a third time for luck. Finally, when he thinks he can speak without sounding like the spirit of Ebenezer Scrooge is possessing him, Castiel turns around to face a grinning Claire Novak. "I suppose you're responsible for this?" he asks, gesturing to the ruins of his office. 

"Me? Sneak into your office after everyone has gone home and decorate it in the most gaudy, garish decorations available in any dollar store?" Claire peeks into his office, her eyes shining with malicious glee. "That certainly doesn't sound like something I would do. Must be the Christmas elves." 

Castiel bites his tongue. This is what he gets for teaching on a campus located less than twenty miles away from Lawrence High School. He'd anticipated running into several of his former students, but Claire Novak is a special case. In high school, she was an exceptionally bright student who seemed to live to torment her teachers. In college, her intellect has finally found a playground worthy of her talents, but that doesn't mean she doesn't still cause mayhem wherever she goes. It seems to be the natural order of things. 

It doesn't mean that he has to enjoy the violation of his office. 

Claire shifts underneath the force of the glare he levels at her. "It's possible that I had help," she offers, and Castiel, even though he knows she's offering that sentence as bait, snaps it up regardless. 

"Who decided this would be a good idea?" 

If it was Dean who suggested this to her, he'll kill him. He loves Dean, more than he thought it was possible to love another person, but there are limits to anyone's tolerance. 

Claire lifts her chin. "I'm not a snitch," she says, offended that Castiel would want the name of her coconspirator. Another glare, the fiercest one in his arsenal, has her rethinking her strategy. "Ms. Harvelle," she finally mutters, and then adds, "though Ms. Bradbury thought it was a good idea." 

Castiel bites back the immediate swear which rises to his lips. He loves Jo and Charlie like his own family (more so, because his family certainly isn't the paradigm of healthy relationships), but sometimes they take their self-appointed roles as little sisters a little too seriously. This Christmas is proving to be one of those times. First there was the stunt with the mistletoe at Sam's party, and now this prank with his office. It feels oddly personal, and worse since they talked Claire into doing their dirty work. 

"Forgive me for asking the obvious, but how exactly did this come about? It's not as though you're still taking their classes at the high school." 

Claire shrugs. "We all take the same jiujitsu class. We're friends." 

At least four different waves of horror wash over him as that sentence hits him like a freight train. He pushes aside the part of him that wants to scream (Claire! Charlie! Jo! Friends! All taking the same martial arts class!) and instead puts on his sternest face. 

"You realize that if someone had caught you, you could have been punished. They might have thought that you were trespassing or trying to steal. You could have been expelled for breaking honor code." 

To her credit, Claire pales. Castiel resists the urge to shake her. Brilliant though she may be, she's still a relative child, impulsive and headstrong. "It was just supposed to be a joke," she says. The look which she gives him could rival Sam in terms of pathetic, puppy-dog eyes. "They said that you could use some cheering up." 

Yeah, he's definitely going to be having a talk with Charlie and Jo sometime in the near future. Between the oppressive cheer of the holiday season, the Gabriel invasion, and Dean's odd mood from the previous night, he's in no mood to deal with another complication. But that conversation will happen in the future. For now, he has to deal with Claire. 

"The rug is a bit of an overstatement," he finally says, causing a small smile to tug at the corners of Claire's mouth. 

"I think it adds texture. Plus, you know, it reminds you of exactly what you're supposed to do. Just in case you forget." She draws an abstract design along the floor with the toe of her sneaker. "Do you want me to take it down?" 

Castiel tries to keep his mouth stern, but it wobbles halfway through. "Not with exams almost finished. Besides, I have been a little stressed this year. I could use the reminders." Castiel pins her in place with nothing more than a severe look. "This is not tacit approval of what you did. You got lucky this time. Next time, probably not, and I won't be able to protect you." Castiel looks around at his office. "And you're going to help me take this down after Christmas." 

"You don't want to leave it up?" Claire asks, faux innocence dripping from her voice. "You don't need the reminders all year round?" 

Despite himself, Castiel chuckles. "Probably, but that Santa creeps me out just a little. By the end of February, I think he'll be talking to me." 

"Well, you know you're not crazy until you start talking back to him. Or until he starts singing." Claire's nose wrinkles. "Anyway. I gotta go. Alex and I are gonna cram for an exam. See you later, Professor Milton!" 

Before Castiel can think of something else to say, she disappears down the hallway, leaving him with his nightmare of an office. He steps gingerly inside, halfway expecting a booby trap to explode with more Christmas cheer. When it doesn't, he sits at his desk and rests his chin upon his hand. After a few seconds thought, he pulls out his phone and sends a quick text to Charlie. 

_ **Are you and Jo free tomorrow afternoon? Want to take you out for an early Christmas coffee. ** _

\---


	13. grinch

\---

Usually Castiel isn't much for coffeeshops, finding them overly trendy and overpriced, but there's a single shop nestled on the outskirts of campus which subverts his expectations. It's far enough away from the main campus to be truly popular, which in turn brings down the price of the coffee, which is surprisingly good. The decor of the shop speaks to him as well, with overstuffed, squashy armchairs taking up much of the floor space. Bookshelves line the walls, and the whole shop resembles his office more than a shop. 

Castiel settles into a loveseat, cupping his hands around a steaming mug. The warmth bleeds through the porcelain and to his hands, providing much needed relief from the cold. He takes a tentative sip from his mug, wincing as the scorching liquid touches the tip of his tongue. 

"Cas? Hey!" 

A hand claps against his shoulder, causing him to sputter. Coffee splashes over his hand, and he sets the mug down quickly. Jo swings around to the side of the loveseat, a broad grin on her face. She too, seems to succumb to the peculiar Winchester notion that affection always needs to be coated in a layer of violence, just in case anyone was watching and judging. Charlie appears a moment later, the tip of her nose and ears pink from the cold. A Star Trek cap clashes horribly with her hair as well as with the Gryffindor scarf wrapped around her neck. 

Castiel surreptitiously wipes his hand against his pants leg. "Hello," he says, accepting Charlie's quick but enthusiastic hug. Jo's hug is shorter, one arm wrapped around his shoulders. She pulls away after only a few seconds, cementing Castiel's suspicions in his mind: something is wrong here. "Can I get you anything?" he asks, indicating the counter. "I invited you here." 

"Well, if you're paying, then of course." Jo's grin is cheeky and appears sincere, but there's still a small pinch at the corners of her eyes. She and Charlie give their orders to him and make themselves comfortable along the loveseat and couch. Castiel keeps half an eye on them as he gives their orders to the barista and pays. 

Their heads are inclined towards each other as Charlie shows Jo something on her phone. Charlie's arm rests comfortably along the back of Jo's neck, her fingers playing absently with the end of her hair. Meanwhile, Jo's head rests lightly on Charlie's shoulder, and her arms links unconsciously with Charlie's. When Castiel returns with their respective mugs, they don't bother to separate. 

"So, not that I don't love having some unexpected Cas time, but why'd you call us?" Charlie's eyebrows raise above the rim of her mug as she regards him. 

It's a fair question. While Castiel enjoys spending time with both Charlie and Jo, he usually does so in a unit with Dean. Solo dates between them are few and far between and usually unintentional. 

There's no guile in Charlie's expression, only honest curiosity. But there's vague suspicion and calculation in Jo's eyes. She, at least, has partially guessed at the reason for this meeting. 

"I had an interesting talk yesterday with Claire Novak," Castiel begins. At the mention of Claire's name, Charlie does squirm. "It happened right after I came into work to find my office had been...redecorated." He takes a sip of his coffee, now at temperate levels. "I didn't know you were all in the same jiujitsu class." 

"For fitness and for fun," Jo says, a little too flippantly. "It was kind of weird to see her there, but you get used to it." 

Charlie's squirm has a decidedly guilty edge to it. Castiel ignores that and focuses entirely on Jo. She's not quite pleased with herself, but she's certainly not feeling shame. 

"First it was the mistletoe at Sam's party, and now there's the prank with my office. Maybe I'm just paranoid, but I can't help but thinking something's wrong." Charlie starts making distressed noises, but Jo's eyes are steely. "Have I done something to you? Are you angry with me?" 

Castiel's always found a certain refuge and safety in bluntness. It doesn't allow for anything to stay hidden, at least not for long. His preference stands him in good stead here, as Charlie's mouth drops open in a mixture of shock and confusion. Even Jo looks startled. 

"No!" Charlie is the first to speak. "Cas, you're like one of our best friends. I would give up Comicon for you." 

Castiel's mouth quirks upward as a surge of warmth, unrelated to the coffee courses through him. His eyes, however, are fixed on Jo, whose expression is undergoing a few curious changes. "Jo?" he finally prompts, leaning forward. He doesn't touch her, but it does change the atmosphere into something more intimate. "What happened?" 

"You don't know what it was like," Jo finally explodes. "When you left, or broke up with Dean, or whatever, you don't know what it was like, having to watch him struggle just to keep his head above water. He was a _mess, _and it was your fault, and I..." She looks at Castiel, obviously distressed. "Dean isn't blood, but he's as good as my older brother. He took care of me and Sam when we were younger, and he was always there for me. And seeing him like that..." 

"I'm sorry," Castiel apologizes. He means it. He knows his choices hurt Dean, and it only stands to reason that his choices hurt others close to Dean as well. "I know that doesn't make up for anything, but I am sorry. I never meant to hurt him, and I certainly never meant to hurt you." 

"But you did," Jo snaps. This time, when Charlie lays a hand on the back of her neck, Jo shakes her away. "When you two first got back together, I didn't think it would last. I thought you would be out the door soon enough, but then you didn't leave. And I see Dean and the way he is around you, and I _know _he's in too deep. If you leave, it's going to destroy him, and I can't see that again. I can't." 

When Castiel reaches out to take Jo's hand, she doesn't pull away. He wraps both of his hands around hers, wishing he could erase the scars of the past from both of them. "I know you might not believe me, but I would _never _hurt Dean. He's the first thing I want to see in the morning and the last thing I want to see at night. He's everything to me."

Jo's smile is crooked. "I know. I see how you look at him too. You two are kind of gross, you know that?" 

Castiel chuckles, and some of the tension leaks from the room. "I've heard that before," he admits. His smile slips into something a little fonder and a little sadder. "Even though I didn't originally appreciate the office prank, I think it's grown on me a little. I know I have a tendency to be, ah, what do you call it? A Grinch? at this time of year." 

Jo shrugs. "Me too, except people usually have a different name for it as far as I'm concerned." 

"Well, we can be Grinches together," Castiel offers. Jo squeezes his fingers. "But if you try and force me to kiss Sam again, then I'm going to have to 'unleash Hell', as they say." 

When Jo grins at him, all of her normal mischief and good nature is present in the smile. "I don't know, Dr. Milton," she teases, shoving at his knee. "You forget that I grew up with Dean and Sam. I don't know if you can handle that level of prank war." 

Castiel relaxes back into the loveseat and takes another sip of his coffee. There might still be tension in his relationship with Jo; the kind of resentment and frustration she felt doesn't disappear over an afternoon coffee date, but he feels easier with her now than he has in weeks. Charlie's relaxed as well. Her hand rests easily on Jo's shoulder, and as Castiel watches, Jo deliberately dips her shoulder to fit underneath Charlie's arm. They'll be all right. They all will. 

"If you're wondering about my ability to handle a prank war, clearly you've never met my cousin, Gabriel," Castiel begins. 

\--- 


	14. nutcracker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the crack but it was seriously all I could think of.

\---

Honestly, it's his fault for listening to Gabriel. He should know better by now. His childhood and subsequent encounters with his cousin should have taught him to never watch a video which Gabriel gives him. But he's busy grading final papers and coordinating last minute gifts for Dean, Sam, Anna, and Jess, so he doesn't stop to exercise the proper caution when he gets the text. 

After a criminally short buffering time, Castiel is subjected to a video of a Japanese game show. The primary colors are garish as they assault his eyes. There's a single contestant in the middle of the stage. His feet are shut up in a contraption which is bolted to the floor, presumably to keep him from running. There's a buzzer elevated from the floor, within arm's reach. Directly in front of him, there's a simple lever, with a solid looking ball on the end of it. It's pulled away from the contestant, which reminds Castiel uncomfortably of a catapult. 

He has a bad feeling about this video. 

There's a brief commercial for what looks like shrimp chips. At least, that's the information Castiel is able to gleen from the rapid-fire subtitles scrolling through the bottom of the screen. They look like they were written by someone with only a theoretical knowledge of English as a language, which makes the video entertaining viewing if nothing else. At least, that's what Castiel thinks until the game begins. 

From a liberal interpretation of the subtitles, Castiel thinks he's watching a trivia game show. The host fires off a rapid fire question, and a clock starts ticking. The contestant stares at the host with a dumbfounded expression. Castiel thinks he sees drops of sweat running down his face. The contestant looks more distressed than simple ignorance would account for. Castiel once again gets the feeling that this is not going to end well. 

The countdown times out, and a buzzer sounds. The contestant looks as though he's headed towards his grave. Meanwhile, the host has a positively evil grin on his face. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice dripping with faux sympathy. The audience titters. There's a moment of inactivity, and Castiel is just beginning to wonder why Gabriel bothered to send this video to him, when all of sudden, it happens. 

The catapult moves, and the heavy ball slams directly into the contestant's crotch. Castiel's legs jerk up to protect his own crotch in an involuntary, empathic response, and he winces in sympathy. Now he understands what appealed to Gabriel. The mystery is why Gabriel thought it would appeal to him. 

Gabriel answers on the second ring. Clearly, he was waiting for his call. 

"How's it hanging, Cassie?" His question is accompanied by an obscene slurping noise. Castiel desperately hopes he has a piece of hard candy in his mouth. 

"I got your video," Castiel says. He rubs at his temples. Already, he can feel a headache coming on. "I know I'm going to regret asking this, but why did you think I would enjoy that?" 

"Well, you did say you were making more of an effort to be festive this holiday season. I thought that fit the theme nicely." 

Castiel swears he can feel his veins throbbing. "You're going to have to spell it out for me. I'm not following." 

Gabriel's cackle is so loud that Castiel has to pull the phone away from his ear. "Did you not pay attention to the name? The _show's_ name?" Castiel hopes his pointed silence says volumes. It must, because Gabriel sighs. _"Nutcracker, _Cas. You know, like the Christmas ballet?" 

Castiel stares at the phone and wonders why no one's invented an app that makes it possible to reach through the phone and strangle someone. He should invent it. If he did, he's sure that both he and Dean would be set for life. 

"Other than the obvious inspiration for what I'm going to do tonight, was there a point to this?" 

"Castiel, let's not start a fight you know you can't win. And I told you the point. To get you into the festive mood, so you can pretend like you're someone who has an actual emotion once a day that's unrelated to the stick up your ass." 

Castiel has to take a moment and remind himself of all the reasons why homicide is a bad idea. "Well, oddly enough, your video has not necessarily put me in the mood for caroling and Christmas cheer, but I guess I'll have to thank you for the thought. I'm probably going to spend the night at Dean's tonight, so you're on your own for the evening. Try not to start any fires or get arrested tonight." 

"Remember what I said about the stick up your ass? Way to take away all my fun." Gabriel sighs again, as though he's undergone some huge torture. "Cas, don't bite my head off when I ask you this, but have you ever thought about cohabitating with your lovely Adonis? I only ask because you must be dizzy from all this going back and forth." 

He's thought about it. He's thought about it a lot in the past few months. Dean's dropped some increasingly unsubtle hints about the lease on his apartment ending within the next six months, and Castiel knows the answer he wants to give. He wasn't lying when he told Jo that he wanted Dean to be both the first and last thing he saw every day. He wants to be able to come home to the simple pleasure of knowing that Dean will be there, without having to worry that pressures of work and life will have pulled him away. 

He _wants _that life, but there's still something holding him back. The fear, perhaps, that this is all temporary, and one day he'll wake up to find that Dean has gone onto bigger and better things. He _knows _that's not going to happen, but he still can't help but fear it. 

Maybe it's time for him to get over that fear. 

"Thanks for the video," Castiel says, no doubt confusing Gabriel by his quick turnabout. "Maybe later, if you're not in the festive mood, we can recreate it, and see if that helps." 

"Haha. Always good for a laugh, aren't you?" Gabriel's voice is sour, but he sounds a little pleased. "Try not to blow your back out with your boyfriend." 

"What makes you think it's my back getting blown out? Also, you're my cousin, and you're disgusting." 

Castiel hangs up the phone. He sets it down on his desk and considers it before picking it back up again. Dean's name is always the first in his messages, so it's nothing for him to type out a quick message. 

_ **Can't wait to see you tonight. Hope your day is going well. ** _

Smiling, he touches a soft finger to his lips before he continues on with his work. 

\---


	15. cookies

\---

"All right, now you have to crack the eggs, _gently-- _Jesus, Cas, I said gently, not like the Hulk." 

Castiel pauses and gently lowers the egg in his hand to the counter. He shoots Dean a mutinous look. "I was going to crack it gently," he lies. Dean stares at him. Castiel stares back. Dean stares. Castiel squirms. "All right, when then how are you supposed to crack it _gently? _Isn't that an oxymoron?" 

"Because the egg is a delicate thing, all right? Hard shell, but if you press just a little too hard..." Dean taps the egg against the counter and a series of thin spiderwebs appear across the shell. He casts a meaningful glance over his shoulder. "I guess you could say that eggs are like some people." 

For an English teacher, Dean isn't particularly subtle with his metaphors. Castiel rolls his eyes. "Ogres are like onions?" he asks, arching an eyebrow. 

"Of all pop culture, you choose to reference that film," Dean blusters. "No _Indiana Jones, _no _Die Hard, _but by god, he knows _Shrek!" _

Castiel shrugs. "It's in the Library of Congress," he comments lightly. "It's culturally significant." 

"The dragon fucks a donkey, Cas." 

"Are we going to argue over the merits of animated films, or are we going to finish baking these cookies?" 

"Ah, see, now I know that you know that you don't have a good point." Dean points a whisk at him and comes dangerously close to taking off Castiel's nose. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be getting all snippy." 

Castiel attempts a glare. It falls somewhat short, simply because Dean is one of the loveliest creatures he's ever had the pleasure to witness. His eyes are bright and a grin tugs at his mouth, turning his whole face into a roadmap of laughter and joy. His cheeks are flushed from the heat of the oven, and there's just the slightest dusting of powdered sugar along his chin. 

"What are you looking at, weirdo?" From the pleased, slightly bashful look in his eyes, Dean knows very well what he was looking at; he just wants to make Castiel say it. 

He should know better than to play chicken with Castiel. He always wins these games, because he has no trouble saying what he wants. 

"I was just thinking how beautiful you are," Castiel purrs, sliding to box Dean in against the counter. Dean goes easily, an all-too willing prisoner, his chin already tilting up in silent request for a kiss. Castiel doesn't oblige him just yet, though he comes teasingly close, skirting his lips over Dean's cheek before pulling away. 

Dean's breath is shallow, and his pupils are huge, almost eclipsing the green of his irises. "Cas," he whispers, his eyes flicking down to his lips. "Come on, don't be a tease." 

"Who's teasing?" Castiel asks, rolling his hips forward so that his groin brushes up against Dean's. "I'm just figuring out the most efficient way to make cookies." He cranes his head to look over Dean's shoulder at the printed recipe. "Now, what does it mean when it says _Beat eggs gently?" _

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," Dean groans, lolling his head backward. Castiel takes the opportunity to place a heated kiss directly on the exposed skin of his throat. A soft whimper falls from Dean's lips as he releases his hold on the counter to grip at Castiel's arms. "Cas, sweetheart," he cajoles, rolling his hips to entice Castiel closer. 

"We need to finish these cookies," Castiel says, with a sternness he doesn't necessarily feel. "But afterward..." He places one last, biting kiss against Dean's throat before reluctantly pulling away from his warmth. "I can show you something sweet?" 

The heavy tension breaks as Dean snorts and pushes him away with a hand planted on his face. "Are you fucking serious," he huffs, though his smile never fades. "You're going to have to do a lot better than that if you want to sweet talk me into bed." 

Castiel accepts the whisk which Dean hands him, along with the directions, _Stir it gently Cas, jesus, you're not trying to beat the shit out of it. _"Fine," he says, stirring as Dean carefully pours the wet ingredients into his bowl. "What about, 'I'll show you the real meaning of Christmas'?" 

Dean groans. "That's _worse. _Seriously, man, when someone said romance was dead, I think they were looking at a picture of you." 

Castiel wrinkles his nose. "I'll show you something hot?" he tries. 

Dean cracks a grin. "Now you're getting warmer. Pun intended," he adds, before sealing his words with a kiss. 

\---


	16. secret santa

\---

Dean's been getting presents. 

They're mostly small things: a new package of pens, a notepad, a Batman mug, a candy bar. They're insignificant, but they still spark an entirely irrational surge of jealousy in Castiel. 

"Secret Santa gifts," Dean explains, with a rueful shrug. "It's kind of lame, but it's fun to see presents in your mailbox." 

"Yeah." Castiel knows he's grumbling and being unreasonable, but he can't help it. He's possessed with something of the caveman spirit, that says that he's only one permitted to buy Dean gifts. He knows that this way of thinking will _not _win him Dean's affection or support from any other quarter, so he keeps his thoughts to himself. But something in Dean's eyes says that he's already guessed the direction of Castiel's thoughts. 

"You keep up that attitude, and Santa's just going to bring you some coal," he warns, punctuating his warning with a flick to the tip of Castiel's nose. Castiel almost goes cross-eyed in an attempt to keep track of Dean's finger. It's a look he's guessing is not necessarily attractive, but Dean doesn't seem to mind. "Now, let me get dressed. _Some _of us still have another three days of school, unlike some other lazy bastards that I can think of." 

Castiel stretches, unrepentant. "It's not my fault that my Christmas break starts earlier than yours. It's clearly just a reward for my exemplary behavior." 

"Yeah, sure." Dean rolls his eyes as he finishes his morning coffee. He presses a quick kiss to Castiel's cheek, and heads back to the bedroom to change for work, though not without banging on Gabriel's door. A disgruntled shout comes from within, and Castiel rolls his eyes. Trust Dean to poke the sleeping bear, and leave immediately afterward, ensuring that Castiel has to deal with the fallout. 

Castiel would complain, but the kiss which Dean bestows upon him before leaving erases most of his rational thoughts. He's still reeling when Dean walks out the door, which he realizes, was Dean's intention. If Cas weren't so smitten by the kiss, then he would hold a grudge against Dean for being able to so effectively disarm him. As it is, he has other plans. 

He walks down the hall and knocks on Gabriel's door. He gets an irritated grunt for his troubles. "What the hell?" his cousin shouts through the door at the second knock. "Can you not just leave me alone?" 

"That's what you get for crashing at my house rent-free," Castiel calls back. "I've got a job for you." 

There's a few seconds of silence, then some shuffling. Finally, the door cracks open, revealing a disgruntled and shabby Gabriel. "This job had better entail strippers and some kind of hard drugs," he groans, dragging his fingers through his hair. "Otherwise, I might just kill you." 

"No strippers, no drugs," Castiel says cheerfully. He ignores the death threat. Amongst the Milton family, a death threat is almost a term of endearment. "Instead, we're going to play Santa." 

"You know, when I told you that you needed to be in a more festive mood, I thought maybe you'd just, you know... not mope so much. I didn't expect you to actually take it seriously." 

"Well, that was your mistake, now wasn't it?" Perhaps he should be more alarmed by the giddy cheer that's taken over his body at the prospect of simultaneously being kind to Dean and torturing his cousin, but for now, he's just going to run with it. Plenty of people (including Gabriel) have chastised him in the past weeks, saying that he should be more _festive, _whatever the hell that means, and Castiel is not going to a look a gift horse in the mouth. "Come on, get dressed. We're leaving in thirty." 

Gabriel's shout follows him down the hallway, and Castiel grins. 

\---

It takes some coordination with Charlie, but once Castiel explains his plan to her, she's more than willing to cooperate. After she finishes gushing about how _This is really the cutest thing ever, Cas, and don't take this the wrong way, but I didn't think you were capable of this, don't get me wrong, I know that you love him, but this isn't really your style, _she and Castiel manage to hammer out the hard logistics. For all of her fan-girling, Charlie possesses a brilliant strategical mind (probably one of the reasons why her Kingdom rests as the reigning champion of Moondor), and between the two of them, they work out all the kinks in the plan fairly quickly. 

As he is neither a parent nor a teacher, Castiel won't be allowed into the school building, and he's not willing to test whatever goodwill may remain from Principal Naomi by sneaking into the school. Instead, he sets up what he can outside the school, just out of view of Dean's classroom window, and calls Charlie when he's ready. Gabriel shivers next to him. His mood from the morning has only been slightly improved by a visit to the bakery. Right now, he glares mutiny at Castiel. 

"Remind again of why I'm doing this?" he asks as he tucks his hands into his sleeves. 

"Because instead of choosing to be on a yacht somewhere in the Pacific, you chose to visit Lawrence, Kansas, and stay with your loving cousin," Castiel smugly reminds him. "And family helps each other out." 

"Not making that mistake again," Gabriel grumbles, but he nonetheless follows Castiel's instructions. It only takes a few minutes more before his phone buzzes with a text from Charlie. 

_ **I got his class away from him, but you have maybe two minutes before he realizes something's up. Five minutes total before you can no longer escape detection. All systems are GO. ** _

"All right. Ready?" Gabriel sends him a dirty look, but he pushes play on the boombox which Castiel had managed to unearth from his attic. Bruce Springsteen's "Santa Clause is Comin' to Town" blares from the speakers. After a few moments, faces appear in the windows as teachers and students alike try to discover the source of the disturbance. Most teachers manage to chase their students away from the windows, and blinds snap down to cover all windows, save for one. 

Castiel grins as he sees Dean's face appear in his window. Twin puffs of breath blow out from his nose as he chuckles at the dumbfounded look on his face. It takes Dean a few moments to crank open his window, but he manages to crack open the window enough to wriggle his head and shoulders through. "Cas?" Dean asks, as if he doubts his eyes. "What the hell-heck-are you doing here?" 

"Isn't it obvious?" Castiel asks, indicating the small table in front of him. Upon it rest a slice of apple pie, a carryout bag from The Roadhouse, a selection of Dean's favorite coffee grounds, and a tiny stuffed Santa, complete with sunglasses. "I'm your Secret Santa!"

It takes Dean a moment to react, but when he does... Castiel thinks he could live for the look on Dean's face. It blends affection, humor, gratitude, and sheer joy. "You know," Dean calls, his face splitting in a grin, "the whole point about secret Santas is that they're _secret. _You need help with the definition?" 

"Careful," Castiel calls, picking up his gifts when Dean motions him to come closer. "It was you warning me earlier today that I was going to get a lump of coal for a bad attitude." 

"Oh, wise and wonderful and sexy Santa, please come closer with your gifts?" Dean winks at him. Castiel's heart performs a rapid pitter-patter at the sight of that wink, the same as it always does. He hopes that never changes. 

"Before you get your gifts, there is a price," Castiel warns, holding everything just out of Dean's reach. 

"Santa doesn't demand payment." 

"Well, this Santa does." Castiel lifts his chin in a silent request. Dean's smile broadens but turns softer at the edges, an impossible contradiction that only he could manage. 

"I guess that's a price I'm willing to pay." Dean leans further out the window and kisses him. His lips are almost scorching against Castiel's cold skin, and Castiel's heart jumps in his chest at the soft contact of Dean's lips against his. 

Eventually they part. Dean's cheeks are rosy with the cold, and his eyes are bright as he stares at Cas. "You're also insane," he tells Cas. "You're lucky you don't work here anymore, otherwise I'm fairly certain you wouldn't have a job." 

Castiel shrugs. "Naomi always had a soft spot for me," he says carelessly, though he's fairly certain that's not true. "I'm sure I wouldn't get in any trouble." 

"Yeah, yeah, you're a principal's dream. Now get out of here before you end up getting arrested." Dean kisses him again, a hint of tongue sweeping over Castiel's lips. "I love you. I'll see you tonight? Your place?" 

"Yeah. I'll try and dinner on the table when you get home." At Dean's small noise of worry, Castiel sighs. "Gabriel's going to help." Castiel steals another kiss, warmth lighting him up from the inside out. 

Dean smiles against his lips. "You make a pretty sexy Santa." Another peck and then he accepts the gifts from Castiel's hands. "I'll see you at home tonight." 

Dean neatly disappears inside. Castiel watches after him until the window closes. After that, he quickly packs up the table and disappears into his car. Though Dean meant it jokingly, there's also a grain of truth in his words: security around schools is a tricky thing, and it doesn't take much for the cops to be called. They leave before that can happen. 

Gabriel fills the ride home with enough complaints to blister Castiel's ears. He continuously shoots Castiel martyred looks while huddling as close to the heater as he can humanly get. Castiel turns the heat up, though he has enough reason to be warm. 

_I'll see you at home tonight. _

Just like that, another piece of the puzzle falls into place. 

\---


	17. reindeer games

\---

Family game night happens at irregular intervals, but it usually occurs at least once a month. It features, without fail, Dean, Sam, Charlie, Jo, and Jess, and usually involves guest appearances from Benny and Andrea, Ash, and Garth and his wife, Bess. The games usually played are mostly board games (Monopoly and Risk are popular), but Twister has been known to rear its head (Dean had been simultaneously infuriated and aroused to discover Cas' prowess at the game). Charlie has continuously lamented their inability to set up a D&D group, but the group's attention span and schedules won't allow for that kind of dedication. 

Castiel usually don't join in the shenanigans for family game night. While he loves the company and can appreciate the sentiment, he somehow can't embrace the atmosphere behind it. His childhood never featured boardgames or even good times with family, and trying to recreate it now just makes him resent the loss instead of enjoying what he has now. He usually spends those nights in his office, grading papers and planning his lectures, but with the end of the semester, he finds himself short of work. 

It therefore comes as a welcome surprise when Gabriel invites him out for drinks on family game night. It comes as a larger surprise when, upon sitting down in the booth, Gabriel slides his credit card to the waitress without complaint. Castiel stares at him in disbelief. 

"Are you dying?" he asks, once the waitress has left to fill their orders. 

"What? No, don't be ridiculous. You know I'll never die. Sure, I'll fake my death, but that's hardly the same thing." 

The waitress, perhaps intrigued by the Platinum on Gabriel's card, returns quickly with their drinks. Castiel takes a sip of his beer, regarding Gabriel from over the rim of his glass. "So, what's the occasion? You're not dying, but I don't know why else you would be so generous."

"All right, I'm hardly that bad." 

"You've been mooching off of me for the entire month. You made me pay a $30 delivery fee for a packet of candy." 

Gabriel stares at him. "Yeah? What's your point?" 

Castiel reminds himself that murder is generally frowned upon in polite society. One thumb pushes into his temple as he says, "You're not really given to acts of generosity, so what's this about?" 

"Oh, this?" Gabriel gestures to the bar. "This is bonding time, cuz!" Castiel levels another stare in Gabriel's direction. It lasts for at least thirty seconds before Gabriel deflates. "All right, well, it was worth a shot, anyway." 

Castiel watches with growing alarm as Gabriel shifts and shuffles on the booth opposite him. It's certainly not like his cousin to be this hesitant in anything, let alone making his feelings known. Finally, Gabriel says, "I got a call from Kali the other day. She says that she's sorry, and she wants to see if we can work this thing out." 

"That's..." Castiel takes a few seconds to think as he turns his glass in careful, quarter angles. "Are you sure you want to do that?"

Gabriel's expression is uncommonly serious when he looks up at Castiel. "I love her. I know she's a little...unconventional, but there's no one else like her in the world. She's fiery and passionate and smart. She's the only person I could ever see myself spending the rest of my life with." He cocks his head, a little smirk darting over his face. "You're telling me you never felt like that with Dean?" 

Caught out, Castiel doesn't answer. Of course, it's exactly how he feels about Dean. There's no one else in the world who could ever interest him half as much, no one else who comes close to combining the intelligence, kindness, humor, and devotion which resides effortlessly in Dean. Castiel understands all too well what it's like to be consumed with love for someone else, body and soul. 

"Do you think it'll work this time? Do you think you'll be able to work it out?" 

Gabriel shrugs. "Honestly? I've got no idea. But I have to try. Otherwise, what's the point, am I right?"

Castiel says nothing, because once again, he understands all too well. Maybe it will work out, maybe it won't, but no matter the outcome, the _effort _is what's important. He reaches over and pats Gabriel's wrist. The contact is odd for both of them, and he rescinds it as soon as possible. 

"I'll be rooting for you." Castiel pauses. "When are you leaving?" 

"I figure I'll pack up tonight, and I should be out of your hair by noon tomorrow. If you could swing it, a ride to the airport wouldn't go amiss." The expression on Gabriel's face goes dreamy (it's a little disturbing, but Castiel doesn't say anything). "By this time tomorrow, I should be in Mykonos, drinking $500 champagne from someone's navel." His mouth dips in a slight frown. "I'll be drinking $500 champagne from a flute over an expensive dinner." 

Castiel inwardly breathes a sigh of relief. While he loves his cousin, in the abstract ways that families are supposed to love each other, as well as a love borne of gratitude for being the only ally in a turbulent childhood, he can't deny that Gabriel's being at his house has put a definite strain on not only him, but his relationship with Dean. It's difficult to try and have an intimate evening with Dean with Gabriel leering over them. 

He will miss his brownies, however. 

"Michael's going to be upset if you're not at Christmas. You know he likes having the whole extended family there. Well, the more photogenic and successful ones, anyway." Anna hasn't been invited to a Christmas or New Year's gathering in years, despite the fact of her being family. When it comes to Michael Milton, family is a subjective term, to be used or discarded at his convenience. 

"I'm sorry, was that supposed to be a deterrent? If anything, you're pushing me out the door. A chance to reconnect with the love of my live, spend the rest of the holidays in a place that isn't as cold as Santa's dick, _and _a way to stick it to my brother? Cassie, baby, you're singing my song." Gabriel finishes the rest of his obnoxiously colored shot in a single gulp. "You should think about giving it a pass. There's no reason to let my dick of a brother torture you if you're not getting anything out of it. Why bother?" 

"Because it's... I've always..." Castiel stammers through several excuses, but Gabriel just raises his eyebrows. 

"You don't have to answer, but just think about it. What would you rather do--spend the night with Dean, having fun and making sweet, sweet love, or spend the night with Michael and his cronies being poked and prodded, just for him to play whatever games with you he wants to play?" 

Gabriel reaches over the table and pats Castiel's shoulder. It lacks the bone-bruising force of a Winchester slap, but there's still force behind the gesture. Castiel's shoulder buckles under the gesture, but he appreciates the camaraderie. "Now, get that sour-puss look off your face and drink up! We're celebrating!" 

\---

By the time Gabriel calls the Uber to come pick them up, Castiel isn't sure quite how many drinks they've consumed. He's capable of walking himself to the car, but it's Gabriel who gives the address. Castiel rests his head against the window, appreciating the cool glass on his over-heated skin. Gabriel keeps up a light banter with the driver all the way until he stops in front of a house. 

"Just be a second," Gabriel says to the driver, before he exits and opens the door. Castiel pours himself out of the backseat and accepts the hand which Gabriel offers. Together they make their way to the door. Gabriel leans on the doorbell until it sputters and the porch light comes on. 

Dean yanks open the door, looking harried. "What the..." He blinks and takes in the sight of them. "Gabriel? What the hell?"

"I've got a present for you." Castiel groans when Gabriel jostles him, upsetting his equilibrium. 

"I thought you two were going out tonight." 

"Oh, we went out, all right," Gabriel crows. Somehow, Castiel finds himself leaning heavily against Dean as Gabriel steps away from the door and lifts his hand in a jaunty wave. "Have a great night!" 

Castiel blinks and suddenly Gabriel and the Uber have vanished, and it's just him and Dean. "When did we get inside?" he slurs, reaching up with a clumsy hand to pat Dean's cheek. He finds himself fascinated with the constellation of freckles smattering the bridge of Dean's nose and tries to trace the line of them with his index finger.

"All right, hands to yourself, you lush." Castiel finds himself marched into the kitchen. The remnants of game night are scattered around the house: a few beer cans, an abandoned Monopoly board, and a three pizza boxes. The sink is full with dirty dishes, but Dean ignores them as he grabs a glass and fills it with water. "Drink this; you'll thank me later." 

Castiel complies but doesn't take his eyes off of Dean. "You're really pretty," he observes, and doesn't understand why Dean laughs. He's merely stating a fact. 

"You're always so goofy when you're lit," he says, dropping a fond kiss to Castiel's forehead. "Finish drinking that, sweetheart. Your head isn't going to be happy with you." 

Castiel finishes the water and holds the glass out to Dean, who promptly fills it again. "Drink that. I've got to finish cleaning up." 

"No," Castiel says, leaning forward and wrapping his arms around Dean's torso. He presses his face to Dean's chest and breathes in the scent of him: spicy cologne, clean laundry, and soap. "Leave it; I'll clean up tomorrow morning while you're at school. Come to bed." He nuzzles at Dean's neck and nips at his earlobe, grumbling unhappily when Dean grabs him by his shoulders. 

"Calm down, Casanova. Don't start something you know you can't finish." 

"Can't help it. Want you. You're so hot. Love you." 

Dean kisses him, soft and sweet. "I love you too. Though I might have to put a stop to you going out for drinks with Gabriel. You're like Jell-o." 

"Sexy Jello," Castiel corrects. The distinction is important. 

"God, I love when you're like this," Dean whispers, before sweeping Castiel's hair off of his forehead. "Come on. Let's go to bed." 

"Dean," Castiel says as he remains obediently stationary so that Dean can work his shirt and pants off. "Dean, I have something to tell you." 

"Okay, sweetheart. Whatever it is, it can wait until the morning, all right?" Dean tugs the comforter over him and flicks off the lamp on his side of the bed. He strips down to his boxers and slides into bed next to him.

"I really love you," Castiel says, rolling over so that he's plastered against Dean's back. He kisses along the bare line of Dean's shoulder until he feels his eyelids growing heavy. "I love you so much more than any words could say." 

Dean squeezes his wrist. When he answers, his voice is thick with emotion. "Yeah. Me too, Cas." 

Secure in Dean's, love, Castiel allows himself to sleep. 

\---


	18. ugly christmas onesies

\---

Castiel stares at Dean. 

"Ugly Christmas onesies." 

Dean nods. 

Castiel blinks. 

"Ugly Christmas sweaters weren't enough?" 

Dean shrugs. The outfit he has on certainly qualifies as both 'ugly' and 'Christmas onesie'. It's a bright, vicious green which clashes terribly with the red trim at the neck, wrists, and ankles. Candy cane striped designs curl around the legs and arms, while a giant Santa leers at him from the center of Dean's chest. A genuine pom-pom dances from Santa's hat. 

The whole thing is a travesty to good sense, Castiel's eyes, and Christmas in general. Castiel, with a hangover encroaching upon his senses, squints at his boyfriend. He's getting a headache just from looking at the monstrosity in front of him. He wants to blame his nausea on the outfit as well, but he thinks that might have to do with the entire liquor store he consumed last night. He drops back into the pillows, groaning when the movement jostles his head, his stomach, and his back. 

Dean, the bastard, is singularly unsympathetic. "Headache?" he asks, a little too slyly to be innocent. 

"You know I have one," Castiel grumbles. "Your outfit is making it worse." 

"It was Charlie's idea," Dean says, as though that excuses anything. 

Castiel has wondered before, in idle moments, if Dean could ever do anything to ensure that Castiel wouldn't find him attractive. So far, the onesie notwithstanding, Dean still remains the loveliest man Castiel's ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. However, the onesie does make him think about it for a moment, which has never happened before. 

"Turn around," Castiel commands. Dean raises an eyebrow, but does as he commands. Castiel squints as he leans forward and peers at Dean's ass. The onesie manages to obscure even that work of art. 

That settles it. When Dean gets home, Castiel is stripping that horrid piece of clothing from him and burning it. He might even roast chestnuts over it, in the spirit of Christmas. 

"Tell Charlie that she's going to get a karmic punishment for this abomination," he grumbles, shoving his face in the pillow. 

"Babe, you throw around the word abomination too much. Last week, you said that the chicken at lunch was an abomination." 

Castiel turns his head so that one eye is glaring out at Dean. "You want to argue with me _now? _While you're wearing that? I'm sorry love, but you don't really have a leg to stand on." 

After a final adjustment of Santa's pompom, Dean decides that he's ready to face the world. His shadow falls over Castiel and a moment later, Dean's fingers ruffle through his hair. A soft kiss is deposited on the crown of his head, which is very sweet of him, before Dean pats his blanket covered ass several times, which is less sweet. 

"Go back to sleep, grumpy." Dean pauses. "Are you going to be here when I get home?" 

It's too early in the morning to guess at the hidden meaning behind Dean's words. Nevertheless, there's something there, some decision which Castiel made that Dean needs to know about. The memory tickles at the back of his mind, but before he can grasp it, it's gone, leaving his head aching worse than before. Castiel moans and presses his face into the pillow. 

"I'll text you during lunch." Dean's fingers ghost over his hair. "Love you, grumpy." 

Castiel lifts his head to tell Dean the same, but by the time he does, Dean is gone. 

\---

A few hours later, Castiel wakes to find a glass of water and two ibuprofen on the nightstand, along with a text from Dean. 

_ **hey grouchy, when u get this, text me back. no hurry, i won't start worrying about you until it's at least 1** _

A squint tells Castiel that it's only 11:39. He texts Dean back, his thumbs feeling at least three sizes too big and clumsy as they move over the screen. 

_ **Not dead. Love you.** _

He sets his phone on the table and grabs at the pills. Gratefully, he swallows them down and rolls onto his back. He remembers his decision the previous night. Now, all that remains is to tell Dean. But how?

He can worry about that later. For now, he closes his eyes, and naps. 

\---


	19. north star

\---

Castiel spends his night wrapped around Dean. He doesn't sleep. 

He occupies himself with watching the rise and fall of Dean's chest. He counts the spaces between his breaths, he catalogues the rush of air through Dean's nostrils. He stops short of counting the eyelashes fanning Dean's cheek, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't appreciate the dusky gold curtain against fair skin. He does spend an inordinate time trying to connect the spray of freckles across the bridge of Dean's nose into different constellations. He notes the even edge of Dean's nails, carefully pared blunt and short. Dean's hand rests on the pillow next to his head, his fingers curled into his palm. It's an inherently trusting gesture, one that makes Castiel slide his fingers into Dean's grip. He smiles as Dean reflexively holds his hand before he works his finger loose. Dean grunts, but accepts the loss quickly. 

No doubt if Dean were to wake and find him looking, he would be upset. He's already chastised Castiel for his penchant of staring at him while he's sleeping _(It's fucking creepy, Cas!) _but Castiel can't help himself. In sleep, all of Dean's lingering defenses are dropped, leaving him soft and vulnerable and wholly Castiel's. Here, there's no one to impress, no one to care for, no one to perform for. There is only Castiel. 

With light touches, Castiel rests the palm of his hand over Dean's heart. He closes his eyes and concentrates, and after a few seconds pass, then he feels it: the steady beat of Dean's heart. 

Sometimes, Castiel allows himself to think about the worst possible outcomes. What would have happened if he and Dean had never run into each again, through a series of serendipitous accidents. What would have happened if Dean had refused to forgive him, or what would have happened if Castiel had just given up. 

He presses harder on Dean's chest, his fingers curling into a desperate fist, as a ragged sob catches in his throat. His mind races through the possibilities until he's dizzy. There's a world where he never got to feel Dean's shoulder bumping into his as they make dinner together. There's a world where he doesn't know the sleep-warm, lazy feel of Dean's kisses in the morning, where he's never gotten to experience the kaleidoscope of Dean's eyes in a summer evening. There's a world where he doesn't get to wake up every morning with the knowledge that Dean Winchester loves him imprinted on his mind. 

"Cas? What're you doing?" 

Dean's voice shakes Castiel out of his thoughts. Startled, he looks down to meet Dean's heavy-lidded eyes which become only marginally brighter as Dean scrubs at them with the back of his hand. "Everything okay?" he asks, a flicker of alarm shining in his eyes. 

"I'm good, I'm fine," Castiel assures him, rubbing lightly at Dean's chest. "I was just... thinking." 

Dean slumps back into his pillow, though the worry doesn't fade from his eyes. "Well, stop thinking and sleep," he grumbles, tugging at Castiel's wrist until he's reclining next to him. Dean pokes and prods at his body using a mixture of gentle touches and bullying until Castiel is in the position which Dean prefers him: on his side, his chest to Dean's back, his hand wrapped around Dean's waist so that they can tangle their fingers together over Dean's chest. Castiel knows that this is Dean's favorite position to sleep in, the same that he knows that if he ever divulged that particular piece of information that Dean would most likely kill him. 

"I love you so much," Castiel whispers into the secret spot behind Dean's ear, but those paltry words can't possibly hope to encompass everything that he feels. 

Dean is the compass by which he sets the course of his life. He is the North Star, the single, unwavering point in the distance. Without Dean, Castiel would be lost. Without Dean, every piece of Castiel would be set adrift, never to return. 

"I can _feel _you thinking back there," Dean mumbles, squeezing Castiel's fingers. "Sleep. If it's really that important, we can talk about it in the morning." 

Castiel doesn't answer. Despite his grumpy tones, he can feel sleep encroaching upon Dean's slackening muscles and deepening breaths. He presses his nose into the back of Dean's neck and breathes in deeply. Dean snuffles, and there's something grumpy in the tone, but he subsides. His fingers stroke over the back of Castiel's hand before sleep takes him. 

It takes a long time for Castiel to fall asleep, but eventually he does, lulled into calmness by the slow regularity of Dean's breaths and the continuous pulse of his heart. 

\---


	20. holiday tunes

\---

Castiel is wrestling with the process of wrapping Christmas presents. If he were left to his natural inclination, then he would choose a single roll of paper and wrap every present in it, for economy's and simplicity's sake, but both Dean and Sam have told him that this would be a poor decision. If Gabriel were still here, he would have told Castiel the same thing, but his cousin is currently enjoying himself in Greece, if the pictures he sent to Castiel are any way to judge. 

(Castiel wishes that Gabriel were perhaps enjoying himself a little less. The pictures he received show him more of his cousin than he ever wanted, or needed, to see.)

According to Dean, multiple rolls of wrapping paper must be used every Christmas. Ideally, the rolls should be of pleasing contrasts, and the wrapping paper should be tailored to each person's specific likes. "See, like those nerdy little snowmen?" Dean says, shaking the roll in Castiel's face. "These should be saved for Sam, because he's a giant nerd." He then looks away, sparking a hint of doubt in Castiel. 

"Dean," he says slowly, narrowing his eyes at the suddenly guilty look on his boyfriend's face, "did some of my presents get wrapped in this 'nerdy snowman' paper as well?" 

"When it's for you, they're _sexy _nerdy snowmen?" Dean tries. 

Castiel stares at him. 

"All right, some of your presents are definitely wrapped in the nerdy paper, but really, you can't be surprised about that. I mean, look at you." 

"Unless the next words out of your mouth are telling me how sexy my intellect is, or praising my surprisingly toned physique, I'd seriously reconsider the amount of sex you're likely to receive for the next few weeks." 

Dean's grin is wolfish as he drops to his hands and knees and stalks across the carpet to where Castiel is sitting crosslegged, a rather pathetically wrapped present in his lap. He doesn't protest or fight as Dean plucks the gift from his hands and sets it aside. Dean tilts his head to kiss his temple, and then works his way down to Castiel's jaw in a series of small, biting kisses. "Your brain is big and sexy," he purrs. He shifts to nip at Castiel's earlobe. "And you're a brickhouse hottie." 

Though it certainly wasn't Dean's intent, his description has Castiel bursting into a fit of laughter. "Really?" he asks, turning his head to catch Dean's lips. "A brickhouse hottie?" 

"Well, because you're pretty sexy," Dean defends, with a pout that isn't at all adorable pursing his lips, "and have you looked at yourself lately? You're built like a brick shithouse, babe." 

"So you think of outhouses and excrement when you look at me?" 

Dean's pout shifts into a glare. "I really hate you sometimes, you know that?" 

Castiel pecks another kiss to Dean's lips. "No, you don't," he assesses, with a small smirk. 

Dean rolls his eyes. "You've got a big head, Milton." 

Castiel waggles his eyebrows. "You'd know, wouldn't you, Winchester?" 

With a groan, Dean drops his head to Castiel's shoulder. "And you've got a dirty mind today." He lifts his head up sharply, narrowly avoiding slamming his head into Castiel's chin. "Is this just a way of getting out of wrapping presents?" 

Castiel rolls his eyes. "Yes. You've caught me in my devious plan." 

"I knew it." Dean bites at his earlobe before he pulls away. "No dick for you until you finish wrapping presents." He gets up and walks back to the kitchen, humming under his breath and leaving Castiel staring after him in a mixture of irritation and fondness. 

While Castiel hadn't intentionally tried to seduce Dean in an attempt to avoid the horrors of wrapping presents, he can't deny that he's a little disappointed in the turn of events. Still, he loves Dean, and he knows that an aesthetically pleasing Christmas is important to Dean, so he continues. It isn't until he hears a low voice, singing from the kitchen that he pauses. 

There's no backing music, so he knows it's not the radio, but the voice coming from the kitchen is smooth and melodic, warbling in exactly the right places. His breath catches in his throat to hear it, and he creeps closer so that he can make out the lyrics. 

_Have yourself a Merry little Christmas_

_Let your heart be light_

_From now on_

_Our troubles will be out of sight_

Dean moves around the kitchen as he puts the finishing touches on a batch of snowball cookies. Powdered sugar flies through the air, turning Dean's kitchen into a snowy scene, but Castiel only has eyes for Dean. 

It's only when Dean turns around that he catches sight of Castiel. He immediately snaps his mouth shut, and a brilliant flush spreads across his cheeks. "Hey, Cas. How, uh, long were you standing there?" 

"I didn't know you could sing," Castiel answers. 

Dean shrugs, typically self-deprecatory. "I can't, really. Just, you know. I like that song." 

"Your voice is lovely." Castiel steps forward and puts his hands on Dean's hips. He sneaks his fingers underneath Dean's shirt, pressing against warm skin. "It's almost as lovely as the rest of you." He tilts his head to kiss along Dean's neck, leaving a trail of kisses from his collar to his ear. "And I only wish you knew exactly how beautiful every single part of you truly is." 

Dean laughs shakily as he wraps his arms around Castiel's waist. "Those are big words. You think you can back them up?" 

Castiel grins before he takes Dean's lips in a searing kiss. "Oh, I know I can. Now, let's see if I can get you to sing for me." 

Dean groans, but when he looks at Castiel, a silly grin is on his face. "Sweetheart, we have _got _to work on your pick-up lines." 

\---


	21. home alone

\---

Castiel finishes putting the last piece of clothing in his bag and looks around his bedroom. 

Since Dean's house is infinitely more festive, he and Castiel will be spending the rest of the holiday there. There will be the obligatory trip to Bobby's house (Castiel is grateful; there's no way Dean's townhouse could hold that many people without bursting at the seams) for Christmas day, but for the rest of the holidays, he and Dean will be ensconced in their own holiday wonderland (Dean's words, not his). Castiel is looking forward to the long stretches of uninterrupted time. 

He looks around his bedroom again. It's sparsely decorated. At first it was by design: he considered himself a minimalist, unconcerned with the accoutrements of decoration and possession. In the past year, he's been able to admit to himself that he's not decorating because he's waiting for Dean. The walls in Dean's townhouse are lovingly decorated with photos, posters, and artwork, and no doubt he'd have ideas about how to decorate Castiel's house as well. 

He can admit to himself that he wants that, not only for himself, but also for Dean. He doesn't want to plan weekends and holidays anymore; he wants the reassurance of coming home and finding Dean waiting for him. He wants to build a life with Dean, and this is the first step to that end. 

He doesn't doubt that Dean will move in with him, but the thought of asking is still nerve-inducing enough to send his blood pressure skyrocketing. He has to breathe deeply and remind himself: this is Dean. Dean is the exception which proves the rules. 

He zips his duffel bag and hefts it over his shoulder before walking out of his bedroom. He flips the lights off in the hallway as he goes, and repeats the motion throughout the house. He leaves the Christmas lights on, mostly for nostalgia reasons (he'll die before he admits that he leaves them on mostly because they're pretty). Before he steps out of the house he looks over his shoulder. 

For the first time, being home alone doesn't fill him with sadness or regret, but instead, with hope. He knows something better is just around the corner. 

\---

"Hey, you," Dean says, lifting his chin to give Castiel a quick kiss as he steps inside the kitchen. Dean is poking at a mess of meat and vegetables in the skillet. Castiel could smell them when he first entered, and his stomach gives a rumble when he gets closer. "Just a few more minutes, and this will be ready." 

Castiel hooks his chin over Dean's shoulder and watches. He's learned the perfect position to enable him to watch Dean's motions without ever compromising them. It's been a hard fought battle, but he relishes the victory. 

He kisses at the soft spot behind Dean's ear and grins at the shiver the action produces. "Babe, I'm making dinner," Dean complains, though there's no force in his complaint. He twists to look at Cas. "What's gotten into you? You're usually not this frisky until you've had a full meal." 

"I was just thinking about how much I loved you," Castiel says, which is true. 

"God, you're a sap," Dean says, but the flush on his neck isn't wholly from the heat of the range. Castiel kisses along his hairline while he strokes over the soft pudge of Dean's stomach. Dean flinches away, sensitive about that part of his body, but Castiel holds him tighter. 

"I love you," he repeats, which is a weak way to give voice to the feeling bubbling up from the center of him. 

"I love you too." Dean turns the heat down on the burner and turns to face Castiel. "Is everything all right? Not that I'm not loving the smoochfest, but..." He shrugs. 

Castiel's mouth moves without the permission of his brain. 

"Move in with me." 

It takes him a full second to realize what he's said. His mouth falls open with shock as Dean's eyes widen. They stare at each other for a few moments. Castiel's instincts scream at him to address what was just said or, at the very least, for him to try and explain it, but he suppresses the desire. He said what he meant to say, albeit not in the way or the time that he meant to say it, and now all that remains is to wait for what Dean says. 

Dean blinks and slowly rearranges his face into something resembling his normal expression. He rubs at his mouth and flicks his eyes up towards Castiel. "I don't..." He narrows his eyes. "You're serious?" 

Castiel nods, feeling numb yet exhilarated, like he's standing on the edge of a cliff, uncertain of whether or not it's going to crumble underneath his feet. "I am. I want to be able to fall asleep with you every night without having to worry if we packed clothes for the next day. I want to start to build a life together." He dares to reach for Dean's hand. Dean's fingers thoughtlessly close around his, squeezing slightly. Castiel's heart stops trying to jump out of his body. 

"Well, holy shit," Dean chuckles. He squeezes Castiel again, this time firmer. "You know how long I've been waiting for you to ask? It's a Christmas miracle." 

Castiel walks forward into Dean's arms. He barely has to wait before Dean's arms envelop him in a bone-crushing embrace. Castiel returns it, grabbing at Dean's shoulders. He breathes out a shaky breath into Dean's shirt that's suspiciously close to a sob. "So you'll move in?" he asks, because even for his trust in Dean, he still has his insecurities. 

"Yes." Dean kisses the side of his head. "Of course I'll move in with you. It'll be a few months because the lease on this place doesn't run out until the spring, but I'll move in with you. God, I want that so badly Cas, you have no idea." 

Cas kisses him then, needy and desperate. Dean returns his kiss, his hands coming up to cradle each side of Castiel's face. Their kiss gathers momentum and heat both, until Castiel sneaks his hands underneath Dean's shirt to touch his bare skin. He thumbs over Dean's nipple until it's a taut point, drinking in the sweet sounds of Dean's moans. 

It's a struggle to pull his mouth away from Dean's, but he somehow manages. "The food?" he pants, looking over Dean's shoulder at the now sad, sodden lumps of meat in the skillet. "Did you want to finish?" 

Dean captures his mouth again, easily wiping all thoughts of food from Castiel's mind. "We can order a pizza," he growls, starting to unbutton Castiel's shirt. "Want you now." 

"Not going to argue," Castiel pants, his hands feverishly working at Dean's belt. "But out of the kitchen, please. It's unsanitary." 

Dean pauses for a second. He looks at Castiel, going slightly cross-eyed from the effort. "When we move into your house, we're going to fuck in every single room, including the kitchen. For luck." 

"Yeah?" Castiel grins. He bites gently at Dean's throat. "You want me to bend you right over the countertops? Have my wicked way with you?" 

Dean groans as his fingers twist in Castiel's shirt. "God, your dirty talk needs some work too." 

Castiel finishes unbuckling his belt and then goes to work on Dean's jeans. "I don't hear you complaining about the end results." He pauses, prompting an outraged noise from Dean. "Just think: when we live together, I can practice all my best lines on you." 

"It's gonna take you a long time to get good at them," Dean says, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Guess we've gonna have to stay together a long time." 

"Yeah," Castiel replies, galaxies exploding in the pit of his stomach. "A long time." 

\---


	22. mister scrooge

\---

"And I think I'll put my giant Led Zeppelin poster right above our bed," Dean finishes with satisfaction. 

They're both in bed, having enjoyed a supremely lazy morning filled with slow, languid kisses, and even slower handjobs. Castiel's body feels heavy in the best ways, and he's disinclined to remove himself from the bed. Dean doesn't seem in any hurry to leave either, as he gleefully plans their shared living space. 

Castiel hopes he's joking about the poster though. While he enjoys Dean's music, he's not sure whether seeing a shrine to it directly above their bed will help his performance in any way. 

He sets that matter aside in the category of 'Things to Worry About Later'. For now, he enjoys his time in Dean's bed. He shifts and drags his leg along Dean's, enjoying the long, slow rub of skin against skin. There's no intent in the gesture, save for a desire for connection. Dean hums and traces a design over Castiel's chest. 

"I feel like the end of _A Christmas Carol," _Castiel says into the quiet room. 

Dean lifts his head. "Muppet or Jim Carrey version?" 

Castiel resists the urge to roll his eyes. "Neither. Just the regular, Dickensian version." He shoots Dean a severe look when Dean starts to speak. "Spare me your snobbish views. Dickens has merit in literary and social history. If thousands of people like a work of literature, there's usually some merit to it." 

"Please don't tell me this is a way for you to justify _Fifty Shades of Gray." _

"When people are reading that abomination a hundred and fifty years from now, and it manages to shift an entire culture's perception of what had receded to become a relatively minor holiday, then I'll consider it a work of literature." 

Dean sighs in satisfaction. "God, I love when you talk academics. It's so sexy." 

Castiel grumbles in the back of his throat, and Dean twists to grin up at him. "All right. I'll keep my opinions of Dickens to myself. You feel like you're at the end of _A Christmas Carol." _

After a moment, Castiel is satisfied that Dean isn't going to interrupt and he continues. "You know how at the end, when Scrooge wakes up to find that it's Christmas morning and he's been given a second chance? That's how I feel right now." 

"Yeah?" Dean rolls onto his stomach so that he can rest his hands and chest on Castiel's chest. Castiel easily accepts the added weight with little more than a grunt. "You know you weren't a horrible person, right? Like, Scrooge at the beginning, he's..." Dean grimaces and makes a disgusted noise, presumably to show what kind of person Ebenezer Scrooge was, before he looks at Castiel with soft eyes. "You've never been like that." 

"Perhaps. But I know I haven't been the easiest person to love this Christmas. Or any Christmas, really. But I feel like I might actually get what this whole thing is about." 

Tomorrow, he's having a late lunch with Jess. After that, he and Dean will go to Bobby's house, where they'll spend the entirety of Christmas day celebrating and relaxing amongst family. For so long, the holidays were a time of stress for Castiel. They only reminded him of how alone he was, but now he's not alone. He has a family. Even Gabriel, as flighty and obnoxious as he is, is part of Castiel's family. 

"It's about family," Castiel says, when Dean pokes him in the ribs. "And about not doing anything at all the week after Christmas." 

"Yeah?" Dean raises his eyebrows. "Anything at all? I bet I could talk you into doing something." 

Castiel pretends to think. "No, I was planning on doing absolutely nothing. If you want sex, you'll have to ride me. Otherwise, I'm just going to lay there like a dead fish." 

Dean groans. "You are the least sexy person I know, sometimes, you know that? And I'm counting you in that list with Bobby, Sam, _and _Naomi." 

Castiel's groan mimics Dean. "Please don't ever refer to any of those people again with the descriptor of 'sexy' in the sentence. Now I really know we won't be having sex anytime soon." 

"Have I ever mentioned to you how not-fun you are?" 

Castiel wrinkles his nose in thought. "It's come up, once or twice. A few dozen times. At least once a week." 

Dean kisses his chest. "How often do I tell you that I love you?" 

Castiel smiles and runs his fingers through Dean's hair. It's a little greasy at the tips. Maybe he can talk Dean into taking a shower with him later in the morning. 

"Every day," he whispers, accepting the kiss from Dean. 

They can stay in bed for a little while longer. 

\---


	23. late x-mas shopping

\---

Castiel enjoys the time he spends with Jessica Moore. Her drive and passion are inspiring, her intelligence formidable, and her kindness is humbling. His conversations with her span legal and social theory and drift into stories about the Winchesters, and comparative theories on _Dr. Sexy _(thanks to Dean, Castiel is now more intimately acquainted with that show than he ever wanted to be). She's sunshine wrapped into a tempest. 

And she also apparently leaves her Christmas shopping to the last minute. 

"I'm almost done getting my stuff for Sam," she says, as they breathlessly powerwalk through a mall crowded with people as desperate as they are. "I still need to get the InstantPot for Bobby, and I still need to find something for Charlie." She scans through her list. When he reads through the paper, Castiel can see that there are many more items that haven't been crossed off than have. 

"If you go to Macy's, then you can pick up the InstantPot and the sweater for Sam. I need to get Ellen's gift from the engraving store, and Dean's boots from the shoe store." (Much against his recommendations, Jess has bought Dean a pair of authentic cowboy boots. Castiel has a sinking suspicion that those boots will make their way into their bed eventually.) Jessica nods in satisfaction. "We can meet up later to get the stocking stuffers." 

Castiel looks at her in horror. For years, ever since he discovered the convenience of shopping at his kitchen table in his pajamas, he'd just assumed that everyone had embraced the beauty of online shopping, but Jess is apparently one of those people who favors stores. 

Or, as is more likely, she simply put off shopping until it was too late for anyone to deliver, making a trip to the store an inevitability instead of a quaint method of shopping. 

"I'm going to have to _look _for things," Castiel says. He holds the scrap of list which Jess rips off of the main page out in supplication. "I'm going to have to wait in _lines." _

"It builds character," Jess says, uncharacteristically unsympathetic. "Think about how many interesting people you'll meet." 

"I don't _want _to meet interesting people." Castiel ignores how much he resembles a sulking child in that moment. "I know quite enough interesting people at the moment." The look he levels at Jess hopefully indicates that she is one of the 'interesting' people he knows, and that at the moment, interesting is not necessarily a good thing to be. 

The subtlety of the look goes over Jess' head. "Well, then stare at your phone the entire time. But I _really _need these gifts bought." She arranges her face in an expression which Castiel has come to recognize as 'puppy dog eyes'. While Sam's are undoubtedly more impressive, Jess has been learning from an apt tutor. "I'm sorry that I left everything until the last minute, but work was really crazy this year. Please, Cas. Don't you want to save Christmas?" 

Before December 1 on this year, Castiel could honestly say that he didn't give a shit whether Christmas lived or died. However, having undergone a Christmas transformation worthy of Hallmark, or any number of the cable channels attempting to be Hallmark, Castiel finds himself caring a little bit more. 

Also, Jess' pleading eyes are remarkably effective. 

"Fine," Castiel says, steeling himself and gathering his resolve. "But you're going to owe me something. And I'll get to decide what it is and when you get to pay it back." 

Jess holds out her hand. "Done," she agrees with a bright smile, giving his hand a firm shake. Undoubtedly, she's too canny of a lawyer to allow him to ask for truly anything, but Castiel will have fun thinking of repayment options. 

"Thanks, Cas," Jess says before they part ways. "You've saved Christmas." 

\---

Three hours and five stores later, Castiel could care less about saving Christmas. 

He's grouchy and his feet hurt from standing in line. Some woman actually ran a stroller over his foot in the department store, and when she passed him, she gave him an accusatory look as though it were his fault. His arms hurt from hefting bags, and he's sure that somewhere along the way, he's lost a few karmic points from succumbing to both the evils of his temper and capitalism. 

He collapses gratefully in a chair in the middle of the food court. Twinkling Christmas trees surround the food court, and the aggressively cheerful music provides a good background for the dozens of crying children and harried mothers. The scent of grease hangs heavy over this part of the mall. All in all, it is not a winter wonderland. 

He's roused from his musings by the sight and scent of a fresh pretzel waved in front of his face. He looks up from it to see Jess. She looks exhausted and frustrated but oddly triumphant. "It's done," she tells him, plopping down in the chair opposite him. Castiel plucks a grain of salt off the pretzel and places it on his tongue. "We saved Christmas." 

"Jessica," Castiel says, after he savors the heat and salt exploding on his tongue. "If you ever drag me out here again, I will gift your children with as many recorders and drum sets as I can buy. Every time you think you've disposed of the last one, you'll find another waiting for you. You will never have a moment's peace in your house ever again." 

Jess considers. "All right," she finally says. "I guess next year, I'll just start shopping earlier. Maybe you can come over on the weekend and we can have an online shopping party." She takes a bite of her pretzel. "Or, I guess I could get Charlie to come with me." 

\---


	24. worst present

\---

The wrapping has not gone well. In fact, the wrapping has gone so _not well _that Dean's been forced to help him. While Castiel is the recipient of several hairy-eyeballs, Dean doesn't say anything to him, for which he's grateful. 

They pass an hour ripping tape and sliding scissors through paper and peeling adhesive off of bows and nametags to create beautiful works of art that are destined to be destroyed in less than twenty-four hours. Castiel's tentative question regarding the use of gift bags is rejected and then taken out back and shot. "Gift bags are cheap," Dean tells him, with all the patience he exhibits in teaching a fairly simple concept to a fairly stupid class. "They're boring to open and they're not even pretty. Real presents are _wrapped." _

Castiel almost argues (he's been wrapping so many presents, and for so long, that he thinks he might have ripped off his fingerprints), but then he thinks of what life must have been life for Dean as a child. Shunted from motel to motel, never having a permanent address, having to fit all of his possessions into a duffel bag, and having to cope with a father who was absent more often than not. There were times when Dean didn't know where his next meal was coming from, and there were times when his father turned into a figure of fear instead of protection. 

Set against that, the comfort of a pile of brightly wrapped presents under the tree seems minute, but Castiel can see where this aspect of permanence and normality would be important. 

The more he thinks about Dean, trying to create a festive atmosphere for his younger brother through the fear and uncertainty of not knowing when, or if, their father would come back, the more emotion swells in his chest. Eventually, he can't take it anymore, and he shuffles forward on his knees to wrap Dean in an awkward hug. Dean returns the hug, though the pats on his shoulder are more confused than anything else. 

"You all right?" 

Castiel draws back so that he can see Dean's face. Dean's looking at him with a mixture of concern and affection. "I love you so much that I would wrap a thousand presents for you," he enunciates. "A million, even." 

Dean grins at him. "You're so weird," he says fondly. He cups Castiel's cheek and kisses the tip of his nose. "We're almost done, though, so you'll just have to think of some other way to show your devotion." 

Castiel's grin turns filthy at the edges. "I can think of a lot of ways to do that." He turns his head to leave a slow, lingering kiss on the palm of Dean's hand. 

Dean's breath hitches at the touch of lips and tongue to his hand. Castiel hides his smile. For a while, he'd been worried that eventually, the spark of their relationship would eventually dim into something more sedate. He's heard about it all the time from media and in half-hushed conversations over breakroom coffee. "Bed-death", they call it: the real world sinks its teeth into a relationship, and people become immersed in their lives. Their partner becomes commonplace. 

Castiel doesn't feel that. Instead, he thinks, as his lips travel down from Dean's palm to his wrist, his passion for Dean has increased. Time hasn't brought a dulling of the senses, but rather, an awakening of them. Every day he looks at Dean and finds something new to love. 

A particular freckle on the back of his shoulder that he missed. 

The way Dean's fingers wrap around his coffee mug as he takes the first sip. 

The self-satisfied smirk he gets before he thinks of a pun to tell Castiel. 

John Winchester might have given Dean a series of terrible presents but Castiel will give him the best presents. For the rest of his life, if Dean will allow it. And if the price of erasing Dean's past and creating a better present is wrapping gifts at seven in the evening on Christmas Eve, well...

That's a price Castiel is willing to pay. 


	25. candlelight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it only took a year to finish this, but for all those of you who have commented on these little drabbles, THANK YOU! You're the real champions, and I hope you know how much your words contribute to my actually finishing fics. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this little snippet of Dean and Cas' life. Hopefully it made you laugh, maybe made you cry, and made you feel all your gooey emotions. Take care of yourselves and have at least a better 2021 than 2020 (here's hoping this introduction ages _extremely_ well).

\---

The night is still and dark. The room, lit only by candles and the last remnants of the fire of hours ago, is close. 

He and Dean are still at Bobby's house, victims of inertia more than anything else. Outside, the night is bitterly cold, but inside, a fire crackles in the fireplace, filling the room with smoke equally sweet and acrid. In the kitchen, Bobby and Ellen talk, and the low susurrus of their voices travels out into the living room. Castiel can't pick out the individual words, just the gruff rumble of Bobby's voice and the smooth and sometimes sharp tones of Ellen's voice. They sound happy, however, and he smiles as he picks out the distinct sound of two glasses clinking together. 

From the other side of the room, the sound of Sam and Jess' mingled hushed breaths rises and falls with the regularity of sleep. They both drifted off during the last thirty minutes of _It's a Wonderful Life, _and no one had the heart to wake them. Sam's hand is resting possessively over Jess' lower stomach, and Castiel wonders at its placement. Is it just coincidence, or desire, or perhaps something greater, a secret unspoken promise? Perhaps he's getting a little too ahead of himself. After all, sometimes a hand is just a hand. But still, Castiel wonders. 

Jo and Charlie left after the movie, Jo knuckling sleep out of her eyes while leaning mostly against Charlie. "I think we're going to go," she says, around an enormous yawn. 

"Tell me you're driving," Dean demands of Charlie, though the sharpness of his voice is tempered by the weight of sleep pressing on him. 

"Please," Charlie scoffs. She tilts her head against Jo's. "That's a stupid question." Her eyes shine as she looks at the bundle of gifts packed into a box sitting at the door. "With all of that to keep me awake, how could I even think about sleeping?" 

"Weirdo," Jo says affectionately. After a few platitudes, she and Charlie drift towards the kitchen and have a brief conversation with Bobby and Ellen. The door opens, bringing with it a shock of cold air, before it closes again, leaving the rest of them snuggled in their warm burrow. 

Castiel knows that he should rouse Dean. Neither one of them are young enough to escape a night of sleeping on the couch unscathed, and he doubts that Bobby and Ellen's goodwill extends to taking up permanent houseguests (they had been a little too eager to get Jo moved out of the house and in with Charlie). Still, with Dean stretched out along the couch, head pillowed on Castiel's stomach, it's hard to find the desire to move. 

The windowpanes rattle as the wind rushes past the house. The candles flicker, casting strange shadows over the corners of the room and the contours of Dean's face. The perfect line of Dean's forehead is marred as he frowns in displeasure and turns his face towards Castiel's chest. "We're going to have to go out there," he grumbles, wrapping his arms tighter around Castiel. 

"Eventually," Castiel agrees. "Not right now." 

Dean hums happily. Castiel holds him tighter and ignores the twinge in his lower back. He can ignore a bit of pain if it means he gets to keep this longer. In the dim light of the candles, Dean's skin turns almost golden, and the entire night seems so precious and magical that if he could, Castiel would encompass the whole thing in a bubble and keep it safe. 

It's only a moment, however, and it's the nature of moments to fade. Castiel would mourn, except he knows that he can make more moments. He can make thousands of them. For once in his life, there's no expiration date looming in the future. There's just him and Dean, and a world ready for them to explore. 

Dean lifts his head and looks at Castiel. His eyes are hazy with sleep. The upcoming argument about who is going to drive the Impala home may or may not sufficiently awaken him. It's one of those delightful little surprises that he's had to acclimate himself to in the past year, but Castiel wouldn't give it up for anything. Not even a boyfriend would who placidly allow him to drive them home while he dozes off in the passenger seat. 

"Are you ready to go home?" Dean asks. The last word catches on a yawn, but it's still understandable. 

_Home. _

"You know," Castiel answers, dipping his head to kiss Dean's forehead, "I really think I am." 

\---

**Author's Note:**

> As always, if you want to yell at me for whatever reason, you can find me  
[here](https://dothwrites.tumblr.com/) at tumblr. I'm nice but terribly awkward, so.


End file.
